“You shouldn’t say such things!” Anya laughed. She had always liked Esme who, when she had escaped Kathleen, had shown a wicked liking for speaking her mind.
“Of course I should. If I don’t I know of no one else who will. If only Timothy had had half your guts he wouldn’t have ended up with such a complete drip of a girl. Both his wives have about as much personality as one single wet rag between them.”
Anya stifled a giggle “But his children seem to have turned out well?”
“Ah you’ve met Matthew? Maggie isn’t here tonight. But yes, Matthew is a sweetie. He’s wicked you know. Somehow he’s managed to inherit that spark that Tim used to have.”
“Is Maggie as nice?”
“Oh no, not at all. Maggie is so like her mother and Kathleen. I know I shouldn’t say that but really she’s had every advantage and she’s turned out to be a complete nonentity.”
“Is Tim happy?” Anya managed to make herself sound concerned. For some reason she desperately wanted Esme’s answer to be ‘no’.
“Seven years they’ve been married now. He should never have allowed himself to be inveigled into it. He was doing extra-curricular activities with his secretary after work and I’m sure it was really only a bit of fun on his part, nothing serious at all. Then she blackmailed him into marrying her after the most acrimonious of divorces. Margaret was really unnecessarily vindictive. She took him to the cleaners, is that the phrase?”
“Oh dear.” Anya tried to sound sympathetic, what Esme told her was much as she had imagined.
“Serve him right, my dear. He should never have allowed himself to get into that position. He should have married you. I always thought it.” Anya wasn’t sure what to say so she just smiled and said nothing. “She had forced him into a corner, you know? When Gillian wrote that letter to the paper she knew he’d have to marry her if he was ever going to bluff it out. You can’t just have affaires all over the place, you know, not willy nilly.” Esme giggled at her small joke. “She knew he’d have to make it look like they were in love, only then would the local party and the Golf Club Committee ever accept him back into the fold. Even so it’s taken years.”
“I suppose having a bit on the side is one thing but being caught out, and so publicly, is another.” Anya suggested thinking that history may well be about to repeat itself.
“Absolutely. I knew you’d understand. You would have been so good for him, you would have brought out the best in him. You really would. Now, dear girl, tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself all this time. I have missed you!”
“My bet is that that vision of loveliness is The Unsuitable Anya.”
“Who?”
Matthew was discussing his dance partner with three of his friends. “A couple of friends of my Dad’s first told me about her years ago. She screwed my Dad and yours and just about everybody else at his stag night.”
“Well it was the 60s. They did that sort of thing then. Lucky buggers.”
“70s. It was 1971.”
“Same thing.”
“They used to make bets apparently. Dad said at least £500 a go.”
“Nothing more than a prostitute then.”
“I don’t think it was quite like that. It was Uncle Geoff who paid her, not the screwee. Explain that if you can.”
They were drinking, enjoying themselves, aware that all the rather middle aged pompous men around them were their future. In 20 years they would be the Golf Club Committee and the stalwarts of the local Conservative Party, one of them would undoubtedly be the local Member of Parliament. They were aware they were by way of being apprentices, absorbing the customs and mores of their class; accepting unquestioningly the advantages given them by the circumstances of their birth.
“OK then.”
“OK what?”
“I’ll bet you five hundred quid.”
Matthew looked at his friend Roger. “What?”
“I’ll bet you five hundred quid that you don’t screw her tonight.”
“Who?” Matthew knew exactly what his friend was suggesting but he was playing for time, looking across the room and deciding whether it was a challenge he wanted to take on. He decided he wouldn’t say no. From what he had heard of her he didn’t think she would either.
“The unsuitable Anya of course.”
Matthew looked at Roger, wondering whether he was really being serious. “You’re on. But inflation has taken its toll so if Dad was worth five hundred quid to her then she’s got to be worth at least a grand to me.”
“What? Just like that? A thousand quid?”
“Start saving up old chap.”
“You’re really going to have a go? Here? Tonight?”
“Of course. If everything my dad said about her is true the money’s as good as mine.”
They solemnly shook hands on the deal. Matthew wasn’t about to lose the bet and he wasn’t going to waste any time. Five minutes later he had wrested Anya away from his grandmother, provided her with a full bottle of champagne and a glass and introduced her to his friends. She was surprised how well she got on with them. At first they were just as she expected boys of that age to be; coarse, confident and crude but the conversation became interesting when they started talking about property. It seemed that even at their age they were interested in making money the easy way.
“When do you think the upturn will come?” One young man asked seriously.
“Soon. A year, maybe two at most.”
“Residential or Business?”
“Residential of course. More flexibility.”
“I’d invest now, in fact I have.” Anya answered the original question. “But let’s not talk business, tonight’s for other things. Let’s dance Matthew.”
She had no shortage of partners for most of the next hour as she danced with a succession of young men who all seemed to want the opportunity to hold her. She did not complain as it gave her the opportunity to see and be seen. Tim seemed to have disappeared but Geoff was there, sitting at a table next to Kathleen. She thought he had lost a lot of weight, he had always been lean but now he appeared almost gaunt. When she had last seen him his hairline had been receding but now he was almost completely bald making him appear not just middle-aged, but old. Sixteen years was a long time but she thought he did not look well. She could not see the Blessed Fiona at the Philips table, perhaps she was looking after the children, they couldn’t be much older than 10 or 11, not old enough to be at such an event as this.
As she looked around she felt Matthew stop in mid step. She bumped into him and was worried she would lose her balance. They really were very high heels.
“Hello.” A woman held her hand out to Anya to be shaken looking intently, almost aggressively, at her. “Matthew? Aren’t you going to introduce me to your partner?”
“Aunt Fiona, this is Anya, Anya…” He was embarrassed that he didn’t know her surname.
“Anya March. How do you do?” Anya was formal, looking down from her greater height at the second Mrs Geoff Philips.
Fiona was to the point. “Why are you here tonight? I’ve never seen you at the club before.”
Anya answered slowly and politely, using the time to appraise Fiona. She decided she had not aged well. “I used to be a regular here, just social you understand, I’m no golfer! I moved away from the area years ago but I’m now thinking of moving back. That’s why I’m here this evening. That’s why you won’t have seen me at the club before.”
“Really?” Fiona sounded as disbelieving as her icily formal politeness allowed.
There was more of an undercurrent in Anya’s reply. “If it’s any of your business I have many old friends here. I do hope to meet some of them tonight. Don’t you love renewing old acquaintances?”
Fiona ignored Anya’s question. “I think my husband used to know someone called Anya.”
“I seem to remember he was married to someone called Anya.”
Fiona saw her opportunity. “He married when
he was very young and impressionable. He’s always said it was a dreadful mistake. He only married her because he felt sorry for her. She was very poor you know, but even being married to Geoff and having every advantage she was never anything other than working class. He divorced her as soon as it was legally possible.” Anya had no time to respond as Fiona turned away then, glancing back over her shoulder, spoke to Matthew. “Take care, the woman’s nothing more than an opportunistic tart.”
“What on earth was all that about?” Matthew took hold of her arms and placed them on his shoulders, pulling her closer to him as they resumed their dance. She twirled his collar length hair around her fingers as they swayed together. Anya had decided now was the time to make her move.
“I think, perhaps, your question is something I should answer outside. We don’t want anyone to overhear do we?”
He put his hand under her arm and led her through the open French windows wondering how many people had noticed. They wouldn’t be missed in the time it would take to win his bet. He led her by the hand along paths between high bushes to a wooden hut.
“You’ve done this before.”
“Oh yes many times.” It was only after he had answered that he realised the implications of her question. “Done what?” he asked with faux innocence.
He kissed her and Anya was surprised at how much she enjoyed it. For his age he seemed unreasonably expert. She thought back just three days to the young American, there was a similarity in the way they both swiftly moved from kissing to more intimate contact. Then she thought back twenty one years to when she had been with this boy’s father for the first time.
“Are you sure this is OK?” He asked politely as he ran his finger around the line of the deep cowl neck of her dress and began to ease the delicate fabric off her shoulder.
“Of course but let me. We mustn’t ruin it.” She elegantly stepped out of the dress and stood naked in front of him.
“Wow.”
“Come on then Matt, I don’t want to get cold.” He didn’t take his eyes off her as he undressed.
It was Anya’s turn to be impressed as she saw that, where the father had had little to work with, the son was well endowed. She let him push her against the coats hanging on the wall and prepared to enjoy herself.
Ten minutes later, as they made their way back to the party, Anya felt remarkably calm. She had had the hors d’oeuvres and had now to prepare for the main course.
“Hello Anya.” They had nearly reached the doors into the noise and warmth of the party when a man stepped out of the shadows. “Matthew go inside. I can’t believe you were stupid enough to risk being seen going back in together.”
“Hello Tim.”
“So you’ve managed to seduce my son.”
“I don’t think seduction is the word. He was very much the instigator; very willing, and I might add, very able. I wonder where he got that from, certainly not his father.”
“You are a bitch. You always were.”
“That’s not what you used to say.”
“No? I may not have said it but I always thought it. A bitch on heat.”
He pushed his arms around her and pulled him roughly towards him. She could smell the alcohol on his breath but she didn’t think it would matter that he was drunk.
“God you smell of sex.” He pushed his mouth towards hers and his tongue into her mouth. She responded for a fraction of a second then pulled away.
“Was I a bitch to have sex with your son?”
“How was he?”
“Obviously not inexperienced.”
“Good. I’m glad he is maintaining the Cross honour.”
“He upheld that alright.”
Tim pushed his mouth on hers again. This time she let him kiss her for longer, responding, tongue duelling with tongue as his passion rose. He remembered she was the only woman who had ever kissed him using her teeth.
She pushed his hand away from her breast. “No, Tim. You’ll mark my dress.”
“I remember it. I remembered it the moment I saw you.”
“It’s not the same dress. You may remember how you tore the original to shreds as we fucked under that tree. Three times wasn’t it?”
“Four.” He bent his head down towards her neck and kissed the soft skin. “I need you Anya.”
She moved her head gently from side to side, aware she was teasing him further than was fair.
“I want you Anya, now.” He took her arm and led her through a side door into the club house. The noise of the ball was muffled. “My office.” he said. “It should be more comfortable than the professional’s hut. I assume that’s where Matt took you.”
He took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. He gestured for her to walk into the large room with a wide bow window, the sumptuous curtains drawn to ensure perfect privacy. She looked around the luxuriously furnished office with its leather three piece suite and old-fashioned, wooden desk, one wall lined with book shelves another covered with photographs of men she assumed were past Captains. The room exuded privilege.
“You’ve looked after yourself Anya, you look as gorgeous as ever.”
“You look your age Tim. Sorry I can’t be more flattering than that.”
“Nice tan.”
“I had three weeks in Barbados.”
“You’re doing well then? A rich ex-husband?
She ignored the implication that she couldn’t have made the money herself. “Getting by.” She suspected that a woman having money was as attractive to him as a woman with a fit and attractive body or a woman skilled at love-making. “Getting by quite well, very well in fact.”
“No wedding ring I see.” That had been her stroke of genius, making sure she removed all rings from her fingers on her arrival in the sun. If he chose to assume that all married women would wear a wedding ring that was his mistake. He would never have made the same assumption with men.
“You’ll remember the sapphire.” She held her right hand out towards him, the fingers elegantly drooping, the ring sparkling. “It really was my mother’s you know.”
“It’s a beautiful ring.”
“I know.”
“It’s one of the first things I noticed about you when we were under the clock on Charing Cross Station. I thought you a dark horse, a beautiful dark horse ready for the riding.” Tim poured scotch generously into two large glasses. “Here.”
“Thanks. But won’t your family be missing you?”
“No. I’d say we have enough time.”
“Enough time for what Tim?” She asked provocatively. He sat down on the settee, patted the seat next to him and she obeyed. She sat back in the unexpectedly comfortable leather and watched him as he carefully removed his bow tie and undid the top buttons of his dress shirt. He didn’t take his eyes off her as, in rather ungainly fashion, he prised off his slip-on patent leather shoes.
“We’ve all the time in the world.” As he sipped his whisky Anya thought how unpleasant he seemed, how unattractive this dissipated, middle-aged, lecherous man was compared with the young man he had been.
“Anya?”
“Yes?”
“Why did you come here tonight?”
“I would have thought that was obvious.”
“Matt? Me? Geoff? Anyone else?”
“Not Geoff. Matt was an unexpected bonus.”
“Not another of your bets?”
“No. Tim. Not this time.”
An hour later, just before the fireworks, songs and the celebrations to welcome 1993, they separately re-joined the party.
“Ah Tim. You’ve returned.” Gillian sat, stiff backed, as her husband sat down opposite her. The way she was looking at him he knew he was in trouble. “I notice also that that Anya woman is back in the room, so intriguing that you should both have been missing at the same time, and for so long.”
“Not odd at all my dear. She is an old friend. We had some catching up to do.”
“I bet you did.”
“What I mean is I wanted to find how she has been getting on since she moved away. She’s done rather well actually.”
“Oh I am pleased for her.” His wife’s dry sarcasm was something that had always irritated Tim.
“We’re old friends, we’ve been talking. For Christ’s sake Gill, don’t make a scene, not tonight.”
“A scene? Heaven forbid!” She gave him a look that told him she meant business. “Sir Christopher! Won’t you join us?”
“Delighted as ever Gillian my dear.”
He turned to Tim who was wondering if his tie was tied correctly, whether there was anything to show that just a few minutes before he had been on the floor of his office doing what he had fantasised for years of doing with Anya.
“Y’know it’s such a shame about the cameras.” Sir Christopher spoke in a conversational tone, as if commenting on the quality of the canapés or the familiarity of the tune the band was playing.
“Cameras?” Tim asked quietly, reacting just as they had expected him to.
Sir Christopher couldn’t answer as the roar of the countdown denied all conversation. “Ten… Nine…” ‘Cameras’ Tim thought to himself, a shudder of dread rising from the back of his knees. “Six… Five…” ‘What the hell did he mean about the cameras?’ “Two… One…” Tim heard the strains of Auld Lang Seyn dying away, half-heartedly returning the ‘Happy New Years’ of the happy revellers who tapped him on the shoulder to shake his hand or kiss him on the cheek, as he waited for the axe to fall.
As soon as the hubbub had died away Sir Christopher continued as if there had been no interruption in their conversation. “Such a good idea, those new security cameras. They’ve been installed in all the main positions around the club. You signed the chitty.”
“I did?” Tim looked at his wife and then at Sir Christopher. In those few moments he knew what they meant. He had forgotten. He had completely forgotten.
“You did. Security, you know, in case of burglaries. The cameras cover all the important places in the club house, the entrances, the car park, the safe in the secretary’s office.” Tim was slow to realise how much Sir Christopher was enjoying this. “And, of course, the valuable pictures on the walls of the Captain’s Office.”
Highly Unsuitable Girl Page 24