The Plus One

by Sophia Money-Coutts

  ‘Barny!’ said Jasper. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’

  Barny dragged his eyes from the woman’s legs and stood up to shake Jasper’s hand.

  ‘Wotcha, old bean.’ Of course, I realized, Jasper had mentioned that Barny was friends with the Sheikh.

  ‘And Holly, wasn’t it? Terrific to see you again.’ Barny leant in to kiss me on the cheek.

  ‘Polly. But close,’ I said. He stank of whisky.

  ‘And this is Emile,’ said the Sheikh, pointing at the blonde on the sofa.

  Emile slowly uncurled her legs, picked up the sleeping dog and stood. She was barefooted, a pair of gold heels discarded beside the sofa. ‘’Ello,’ she said, kissing Jasper first, then turning to kiss me. ‘A pleasure. Thees is Frank.’ She was cradling him in her arms like a baby.

  ‘Oh sweet,’ I said. ‘What is he?’

  ‘Ee is a dog,’ she said.

  ‘No. No, sorry, I mean what breed is he?’

  ‘Ee is a Pekinese.’

  ‘Oh, ’course. Sweet. PG Wodehouse liked Pekinese dogs, he had several.’

  ‘Oh, I must meet him! Where does ee live?’ said Emile.

  Fortunately, the Sheikh interrupted at this point.

  ‘Jasper, tomorrow you must come and see my stables,’ he said.

  ‘Yes absolutely, I’d love that,’ he replied.

  ‘You see, Polly, my horses are like my babies,’ said the Sheikh. ‘I love them.’

  ‘’Course,’ I said. ‘My mother has a terrier called Bertie so I totally get it.’

  The Sheikh looked confused. ‘What kind of horse is this?’

  ‘Oh no. No, sorry, not a horse. A dog. A little dog.’

  ‘And your mother, she races this little dog?’

  ‘No. No, it’s just that she has a pet. So, I understand how you love your horses.’

  ‘I see,’ said the Sheikh, who looked like he didn’t see at all. Then another couple appeared in the drawing room.

  ‘Ah, Ralph! Hello, hello. Welcome. Come in. Have a drink!’ The Sheikh waved them in.

  The couple stepped forward. She was ravishing, dressed like a Forties film star, in a velvet dress, her blonde hair in a chignon and lips painted perfectly scarlet.

  ‘Ah, wotcha!’ cried Jasper, spotting him.

  Ralph smiled. ‘There he is, the old scoundrel. Good to see you,’ he said, walking forwards to shake Jasper’s hand. Then Jasper gave the blonde a kiss on both cheeks. ‘Wonderful to see you both.’

  ‘This is Polly,’ he added, as I sidled up beside him.

  ‘Hi,’ I said shyly, because Ralph was so handsome I felt like I couldn’t look directly at him. Tall with brown hair and proper, white, all-American teeth.

  ‘And I’m Flappy,’ said the woman beside Ralph. ‘An old school thing,’ she added quickly. ‘Don’t ask.’

  ‘I won’t,’ I said, ‘but why are you a scoundrel? I’m intrigued.’ I raised my eyebrows at Jasper.

  ‘Oh you know, Jasper Milton,’ said Ralph, blinding me with his teeth. ‘Blond god of Eton, devil on the cricket field, devil off the cricket field. Breaking windows and hearts all over the place. We worshipped him.’

  ‘Such nonsense,’ said Jasper. ‘I hardly broke any windows and—’ he put his arm around my waist ‘—even fewer hearts. They were always breaking mine, if I recall it correctly.’ He kissed the top of my head and my stomach flipped.

  The Sheikh waved one of his small hands in the air. ‘Everybody, please sit.’

  Flappy and I moved to sit on a sofa near the fireplace together. I sat down carefully in case my corset gave up under the strain, pinged loose and a rogue button shot into someone’s eye.

  ‘Have you known Jasper long?’ Flappy asked.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘couple of months. I went to interview him at Castle Montgomery, I work for Posh! magazine?’

  Flappy nodded. ‘Oh, of course, you wrote that piece. I read that.’ She grinned at me. ‘You were very nice about him.’

  ‘Too nice?’

  ‘No.’ She sipped from her champagne glass and then shook her head. ‘You got it all spot on.’

  ‘You know them?’

  ‘Not that well. We’ve been to stay a few times. But Ralph and Jasper sort of grew up together so I know him a bit better than the rest of his family. He’s a good one, you know.’

  I smiled back at her. ‘I think so.’

  She lowered her voice and leaned towards me. ‘And have you met the Sheikh before?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Neither have I. Funny chap, isn’t he?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Everyone’s falling over themselves to try and make friends with him because he’s got so much money. But it’ll be someone else next week. A new Arab. Or a Russian. Or I hear the Chinese are doing very well at the moment.’

  ‘Er, yes, they do seem to be,’ I said, having another sip of champagne. I thought about the sort of conversations I had in the pub with Bill and Lex, where we’d spent hours discussing whether you’d rather have arms for legs or legs for arms.

  Flappy sighed and sat back on the sofa, then screamed, leapt into the air and dropped her champagne glass.

  ‘Darling,’ said Ralph, rushing over. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘It’s… there’s a mouse under this cushion,’ she said.

  ‘A mouse?’

  ‘A dead mouse,’ she said. ‘Or it might be a vole.’

  The Sheikh clicked his fingers again and the waiter hurried over, leant down and carefully picked up what was clearly a mouse by its tail. He placed the mouse on his gold tray, then picked up the cushion from the floor and placed it back on the sofa, patting it a couple of times.

  ‘There you go, madam,’ he said.

  Flappy lowered herself slowly back on to the sofa. ‘Thank you.’

  Emile piped up from the other side of the room. ‘I think eet must ’ave been Frank. Ee brings them inside sometimes and leaves them for me as a sort of, ’ow do you say, cadeau?’

  ‘A present,’ said Jasper.

  ‘Yes, exactly. A present. You naughty boy,’ said Emile, laughing and stroking Frank, who had raised his head at Flappy’s scream but since closed his eyes again.

  Then a gong went off in the hall. ‘Everyone, please, through to the dinner room, it is time for eatings,’ said the Sheikh.

  ‘Ask me any questionings you like, Polly, any questionings,’ said the Sheikh, when everyone had sat down in the dining room. We were sitting on the sort of gold thrones that Tudor monarchs had been crowned upon. Several gold candlesticks ran along the table.

  I debated asking him whether he’d rather have legs for arms or arms for legs, then decided against it. ‘Erm, OK. Why did you move here, to Little Swinbrook? What brought you from America?’

  ‘Because I love the English weather so much,’ he said, popping a bit of bread roll in his mouth.

  ‘Really?’

  He roared with laughter and revealed his gummy bit of bread roll again. ‘No, Polly, I make another little joke.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ I said, laughing nervously then picking up my wine glass and taking a big gulp. It felt like it might be a long dinner. ‘But why do you love England so much?’

  ‘It is your ways,’ he said. ‘All the English ways. Like the shooting and the hunting and the obsession with those big black dogs.’

  ‘Labradors.’

  ‘Yes, exactly,’ he said. ‘I have ten.’

  ‘Ten Labradors?’

  ‘Yes, they are all outside. You can see them tomorrow if you like?’

  ‘Sure.’

  He nodded approvingly. ‘And your big houses, like this,’ he said, sitting back and flinging his arms open. ‘They are magnificent. We have nothing like it in my country.’

  ‘Do you have to go home much though? Do you not have official duties there?’

  He waved his hand airily. ‘My brother, he can do all these things. It is too hot for me in Doha.’

  ‘So you don’t go back m
uch?’

  ‘Sometimes. I have a plane. So, if I like, I go. If not, I stay here with my Labradogs. Labradogs?’ He looked questioningly at me.

  ‘Labradors.’

  ‘Ah yes, Labradors.’

  ‘I’ve heard about this plane, Sheikh Khaled. You want to build a runway here?’

  ‘Yes, but just a little runway and all my neighbours, they make such noises about it.’

  ‘Mmm.’ I nodded in what I hoped was a sympathetic way.

  ‘And,’ he went on, ‘my plane is not a big plane. It is not like Air Force One, Polly. It has only one bedroom.’ The Sheikh shifted in his seat, then looked at me again. ‘But I do have another idea I need your advices on.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘How do I become a duke?’

  ‘Erm…’

  ‘Because,’ he went on, ‘I have bought this big house and I have all these dogs and horses and now I would like very much to be a duke. But how?’ His eyebrows wrinkled as he frowned at me.

  ‘Well,’ I began, ‘I don’t think you can just be made a duke.’

  ‘But what about Prince William? He is a duke.’

  ‘Yes, that’s… true,’ I said slowly, looking down the table in Jasper’s direction, but he was busy chatting to Flappy. ‘But he’s royal, so it’s a bit… different.’

  ‘I am royal too,’ said the Sheikh, looking affronted.

  ‘Of course you are,’ I said, quickly. ‘It’s just… a funny system here.’

  ‘You English and your systems, Polly. It is so confusing. Can I just pay moneys to be a duke?’

  ‘I don’t think you can buy one. You have to be made one.’

  ‘But you just said they don’t make them any more.’

  ‘No, they don’t,’ I said, looking towards Jasper again.

  ‘Would it help if I am making friends with the Queen?’ he asked.

  ‘Er, you could try.’

  ‘OK, in that case, what if I invite the Queen to come to my house to see my horses? She can come for some dinings and I will show her my stables. And then she can even stay if she likes. It is no problem for me.’

  ‘Good idea,’ I said, feeling weak.

  After dinner, we moved back to the drawing room, where I ended up on the sofa next to Barny, another tumbler of whisky in his hand. A waiter was circling the room with a gold tray and a box of cigars on it.

  ‘You enjoying all this then?’ said Barny, leaning forward and taking a cigar from the box.

  ‘All this?’

  ‘The trappings. The luxury. The splendour of dating a marquess.’ He took what looked like a pair of nail scissors from the tray and cut off the end of his cigar, then put them back on the gold tray and the waiter slunk off.

  I looked across the room. Jasper was out of earshot, standing beside the gold fireplace with Ralph.

  ‘Yeah, it’s been, um, an eye-opener, I suppose,’ I said, deciding to play it cool. Rise above it, I heard Mum say in my head. Her other favourite was ‘turn the other cheek’. Either mantra would work in this situation. Although I couldn’t really turn my cheek right now because I wouldn’t have anyone to talk to.

  ‘How long do you give it then?’ Barny asked.

  ‘Give what?’

  ‘You and my friend Jasper?’

  ‘You tell me, Barny, as you’re so interested.’

  He sat back on the sofa and laughed, whisky spilling over the lip of his glass. ‘Very good. Very cool. Cooler than all the others.’

  ‘I’m not trying to be cool. I just don’t know what will happen between Jasper and me because I’m not a fortune teller.’

  ‘Oh? Fortune hunting more your thing then, is it?’

  The rising above it thing fell down a bit here. ‘Don’t be a dickhead,’ I said, annoyed that I couldn’t think of anything more articulate.

  Barny remained calm, sitting back against the sofa, one leg crossed over the other. ‘Darling, I’m just being honest. I’ve seen various girls come and go over the years. He promises them the world. They all think they’re going to end up in the castle. None lasts longer than a few months.’ He puffed on his cigar, exhaling smoke towards the ceiling. ‘In a way, you could say I’m just looking out for you.’

  ‘Oh, I see, that’s what you’re doing. So kind, thank you.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said.

  ‘Where’s your wife, anyway, given your concern about other people’s relationships?’

  He had another sip of whisky, the ice clinking in his glass as he lowered it down again. ‘London, I think. Not totally sure, to be honest.’

  ‘Everything all right?’ said Jasper, suddenly at my shoulder.

  ‘Fine,’ I said quickly.

  ‘Barny behaving himself?’

  ‘Kind of,’ I said, forcing myself to laugh.

  ‘I thought we might go up, if you feel like it?’ he said to me. ‘I’m shattered.’

  ‘Good idea,’ I said, standing up.

  ‘Night, Barny old chap,’ said Jasper. ‘See you in the morning.’

  ‘Night, Jaz,’ he said. ‘And goodnight, Holly.’

  ‘Polly,’ I said.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I’m terribly bad at remembering the names of Jasper’s girlfriends.’ He smirked from the sofa.

  ‘That’s enough, thank you, Barnaby,’ said Jasper, taking my hand and leading me away from the sofa. ‘Come on, let’s say goodnight to Khaled and go to bed.’

  Upstairs, I felt relieved. Relieved chiefly to have got away from the drawing room and Barny. But also relieved at unpicking my corset so my internal organs could rearrange themselves in all the right places.I brushed my teeth but left my make-up on. It was too early for Jasper to see my natural face. Terrible for your skin to sleep overnight in it, but too bad. I walked back into the bedroom self-consciously, French knickers still on, Jasper watching me from the bed, as he’d simply stripped and dropped his jacket, trousers, shirt and socks on the floor.

  ‘Was he a nightmare?’ he said as I put my head on his chest.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Barny.’

  ‘Oh. No. Not at all. I can handle him.’

  ‘That’s my girl,’ he said, kissing my head.

  Jasper fell asleep within minutes. I lay there awake for about an hour, feeling strange in this big gold house. Feeling almost homesick. His friends thought this was a fling. Fair enough, so did I still. A bit. It felt like a fantasy, all these weekends in big houses and butlers. But say things did get more serious, would they ever accept me? And could weekends like this ever feel normal? I drifted off to sleep and dreamt about having arms for legs.

  After breakfast the next morning (eggs and bacon laid out on the side in the dining room in gold bowls, uniformed waiters scurrying around us with coffee and orange juice) the Sheikh took Jasper and me for the promised tour of the stables. And to see his pack of Labradors.

  ‘This way, this way,’ he said, crunching down the gravel drive in front of us. He had dressed like Sherlock Holmes for the occasion. Leather boots, tweed trousers, tweed coat, peculiar deerstalker hat.

  The stables were set in a large stone quad towards the end of the drive. We walked through an archway into a cobbled courtyard, the heads of various horses poking out from doors on each side. I zoned out while Jasper and Khaled discussed them because I wasn’t sure what a gelding was and I wasn’t much interested in hearing about stallion sperm. I’ve never understood why posh people are so in love with horses. Most of Khaled’s looked bored, standing in their boxes, chewing hay in an idle manner. I know they’re majestic, but a horse is a horse. Four legs and a tail. Like a big dog. Except more expensive and more labour intensive than a dog. And less practical. You can’t take a horse on the Tube. And yet, if possible, the aristocracy were almost more obsessed with horses than they were with dogs. Hours could be spent discussing their bloodlines. Bloodlines! Of an animal! If you ever get to the point of worrying about the ancestry of your horse, you need more going on in your life.

  ‘Polly, you ar
e OK?’ said Khaled as we strolled around the courtyard, shaking me from my thoughts.

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘You want to come and see my dogs, I know,’ he said, smiling at me.

  ‘’Course I do,’ I said, enthusiastically.

  So, we went back through the archway and off to the right, where there was a large kennel. Having seen us, the Labradors bounded up to the metal gate, tails wagging. Khaled opened it and let them all out.

  ‘What are they all called?’ I said, trying to stop them sniffing my crotch.

  ‘They are all called after English kings,’ he said. ‘So that is Albert, that one is Edward, that one is Alfred. Then we have Henry over here and…’ He carried on. ‘And I am going to breed from James, this one, and then have puppies and keep a few girls so I can name them after the English queens.’

  An hour or so later, we’d said our goodbyes and Jasper dropped me off at Swindon station because he had to drive back to Yorkshire. It was a toss-up, I decided on the train, as to who was more mad – the Montgomery family or Sheikh Khaled.

  9

  A FEW DAYS LATER I was sitting at my computer googling how many calories were in an almond croissant when Enid’s phone rang.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she was saying, clearly placating the person on the other end of the line. ‘Oh dear. Yes, don’t worry, I’ll send her straight down.’

  ‘Pols,’ she said, hanging up the phone and peering around at my desk. ‘Alan’s in a right old state. He says can you go down to reception immediately.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Didn’t say. Just said it was urgent.’

  I took the lift downstairs, wondering what on earth was so urgent that Alan, the building’s caretaker, wanted me so immediately for. A PR dropping off some useless new product probably. A bottle of dandelion-flavoured milk. A chocolate hat.

  The lift doors opened and I stepped out, except I could barely move because there were so many bouquets of white roses everywhere – leading from the lift to the reception desk and covering the floor to the building’s entrance.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked, tiptoeing carefully between floral bouquets to the desk.

  ‘You bloody tell me,’ said Alan, as another man stuck his head through the entrance door. ‘That’s your lot then. Fifty bouquets,’ said the man. ‘Can you sign here?’ He waved a clipboard at us from the door.