Seven Week Itch

by Victoria Corby

  He nodded with the long-suffering expression I’d come to expect from everyone who saw me advancing and knew they were being given the opportunity to become the proprietor of a life-sized plush lion. ‘Good party this, isn’t it?’ he asked, waving his glass and making the table wobble ominously. ‘I’m glad I let Rose persuade me to come. I was doubtful about it, I can tell you, but I’m happy I came. You are too, aren’t you, darling?’ he asked turning towards Liddy.

  She gave the tight-lipped smile of the one who lost the toss for who was going to drive home and sipped a mineral water. ‘Of course I am,’ she said expressionlessly, giving the impression she’d be having more fun at a macramé class.

  Stephen looked at me owlishly, blinking behind his glasses. ‘Don’t you look great,’ he said reflectively. ‘Your dresses aren’t usually that…’

  ‘Tight?’ I suggested, as he seemed lost for a tactful adjective.

  ‘Figure-hugging, I was about to say,’ he replied, rising nobly to the occasion. ‘Why don’t you wear things like that to the office? It’d brighten the place up no end.’ Liddy shot him a poisonous look. She didn’t look like she was in a mood to listen to her man complimenting another woman, especially as she’d misjudged how dressy this evening was going to be, for the women at least, and was wearing a sober knee-length dress that would have been perfect for a parent-teacher meeting. ‘Don’t you agree, Hamish?’ Stephen asked.

  Hamish stopped stacking empty bottles in a case behind the table and straightened up, looking at me with a slightly strange expression. ‘That Susie looks super?’ he asked. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t need me to tell her, enough people must have done that already this evening.’

  Well, I could always do with another, I thought in irritation. And some compliments meant more than others because of whom they came from.

  ‘Or that she should wear it to the office? Not unless she wants to switch from estate to escort agency,’ he continued.

  I heard Liddy snigger as I gave him a filthy glare. He looked at me blandly. ‘Only the very best, most respectable class of escorts, of course.’

  The ruddy man could run rings around me, I decided in exasperation, it wasn’t worth trying to retaliate. ‘Can I have a glass of the Sauvignon?’ I asked abruptly.

  ‘Arm completely better?’ he asked, and smiled as I coloured. ‘The Sauvignon is filthy, I recommend you try the Chardonnay instead.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, wondering if this was a peace offering. He handed over a full glass and I drank half of it in almost indecent haste.

  ‘You aren’t supposed to treat a fine wine like that,’ he said with a faint smile.

  I obediently took a minute sip and did all the things you’re supposed to do when tasting a wine, like making exaggerated facial gestures to show you’re moving it around your mouth so it reaches all the taste buds, though I drew the line at the gurgling sound-effects that go with them or spitting it out on the ground. ‘It isn’t a fine wine,’ I retorted when I’d finished.

  He inclined his head slightly. ‘True, but still aren’t supposed to gulp it as if it was Coke.’

  ‘I never gulp Coke. I don’t like it,’ I informed him loftily and then added more quietly, ‘And you needn’t worry, Hamish. Even if I do get absolutely paralytic, you won’t get landed with taking me home tonight.’

  ‘No,’ he said, equally softly, but with a distinctly hard edge to his voice. ‘But have you sorted out who will yet?’

  My eyes flew up to meet his for a startled moment. His face was completely expressionless and I was deciding that, not for the first time, I was reading altogether too much into a situation when Stephen broke in unheedingly. ‘It may not be a fine wine, but it’s not at all bad. I’ll try a bit more to see if I want to buy some. I’ll have Liddy’s glass as she isn’t drinking. It’s in a good cause, after all,’ he said defensively, as she gave him the pitying look reserved by the teetotal for those whose lips have touched the demon drink.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Maybe after we’ve had a walk around the gardens,’ she said in a don’t-you-even-think-of-disagreeing-with-me tight-lipped sort of voice. ‘Shall we go before it gets dark?’ Recognising the implacable note of command, Stephen didn’t protest, though he called over his shoulder, ‘See you later, Susie.’

  ‘Bother, I didn’t get him to buy those raffle tickets,’ I muttered, ‘still, I can catch him later. Now, Hamish…’ I turned around, determined to exact my revenge.

  But he was talking to a middle-aged couple who knew his parents and was obviously going to be occupied for some time so, feeling distinctly and unreasonably deflated, I decided to get back to work.

  Dusk was falling and various helpers were lighting hundreds of candles housed in every conceivable sort of container, from grand hurricane-lamp affairs to humble jam jars and mustard pots, and placing them along the wall, and on the tables outside. The woman in puce called me over to help as it was taking much longer than they thought it would, principally because the matches didn’t reach far enough down half the jars and the holder ended up singeing her fingers. This resulted in genteel ‘Ouches’ and ‘Oh dears’ from the puce woman or muffled swearing if it happened to be my fingers on fire. Fortunately, my contributions were drowned out by Arthur Crown and the Tellers, who were surprisingly good and were still playing their hearts out in their last set before supper.

  I’d been keeping a vague eye on Arnaud, pleased to see he’d seemed quite happy colonel-baiting each time I glanced his way. Now, though he was as attentive as ever, I could tell he’d had enough of being charming to Flavia and her circle, and as for the colonel, he was starting to look positively apoplectic, his eye almost bulging from its socket as he glared at Arnaud through his monocle. It looked like a duel by shooting sticks was imminent. It was time I broke this up. I went over and, tucking my hand into Arnaud’s elbow said, ‘I’m ravenous. Shall we go and get ourselves something to eat?’

  ‘Good idea!’ barked the colonel and before we could get any funny ideas about making a cosy foursome grabbed Flavia’s elbow and bore her off towards the dining room so fast she nearly came off her perilously high heels.

  ‘I suggest you don’t offer to join them at their table,’ I murmured to Arnaud, ‘not unless you want arsenic in your salad dressing.’

  ‘I do not think I will need extra poison,’ he muttered morosely as he took his first look at the huge spread laid out on the long oak table in the dining room. He was being unfair, for though there were certain elements of the curate’s egg about it, the salmon was overcooked and the mere sight of the rice salad made the food snob next to me snort in disbelief, all in all the ladies of the committee had done themselves proud. They’d sensibly limited themselves to only offering a few choices for each course (Rose had told me the rows and negotiations over which ladies were going to be allowed to impose their favourite dishes on the others were something else), though not surprisingly there were great variations between the five separate dishes of coleslaw made in five different kitchens, and due to an oversight only one lady had been commissioned to do potato salad, with the result that it ran out after ten minutes. Even so, Arnaud declared that his ham had been properly cured and his stuffed courgettes were ‘tolerable’, and by the time we got to the puddings unbent enough to declare that actually his lemon meringue pie was ‘very good’. I hoped that Amanda and Bill who were sharing our table realised what an enormous compliment this was.

  Plenty of compliments were going Amanda’s way too. Having sharpened up his act for the evening on Flavia, Arnaud was really getting into his stride with Amanda, who was the sort of vivacious woman he adored. She also had a C cup, which he liked almost as much. He was having great fun playing the clichéd flirtatious, licentious Frenchman to the hilt and Amanda was lapping it up and flirting back with equal gusto. I wondered how Bill, a great big bear of a man, felt about his wife doing virtually everything involved in making love in public apart from actually taking her clothes off and frightening th
e horses. He smiled tolerantly. ‘She doesn’t mean anything by it,’ he murmured.

  On the other hand, Arnaud might well mean something by it. I left Bill and Amanda to look after him while I dutifully flogged the last of my raffle tickets. I passed the tombola, likewise now virtually denuded of all prizes, except one. My bottle of Algerian red was still sitting firmly in the middle of the table.

  ‘Want a raffle ticket, Mary?’ I asked.

  ‘If you buy one of mine,’ she replied.

  ‘No fear. I might get that back.’ I pointed at my bottle.

  She eyed the bottle speculatively. ‘Roger’s ex-wife has invited herself to stay and hasn’t said for how long. She’s a bit of a wine snob too.’ She giggled. ‘I’ll have these last five tickets. Look, what a surprise. See what I’ve won! Won’t Alicia be pleased when she sees this in the middle of the table? I wonder if she’ll make it to the end of dinner . . .’

  I was pleased my bottle had found a home where it was really wanted at last. The wine tasting had finished with supper, though the bar was still doing a roaring trade, and once I’d handed over my ticket stubs to the puce woman I helped Jeremy and a couple of others fold up some of the trestle tables while others busily moved the crates of empties around to the back. Back in the dining room, the tables had been pushed to the side and under the influence of several bottles of tasting wine Arthur Crown and the Tellers had bowed to popular demand and unpacked their instruments again. Right now they were giving a spirited rendition of Glenn Miller and Arnaud was beguining the beguine with Amanda with a touch more enthusiasm than might have been deemed strictly necessary by Bill. Jeremy looked morosely around the crowded room. ‘Oh God! Now they’ll be here all bloody night,’ he muttered. ‘And some of us have to get up at six tomorrow morning.’

  ‘If you’ve got an early start, you could always slope off to bed,’ I suggested.

  ‘Not bloody likely. God knows what Rose would get up to,’ he exclaimed bitterly, then shot me a guilty glance. ‘Our rooms above here anyway, I’d never get any sleep with all this noise. I bet this was her idea,’ he added with feeling.

  ‘Probably was,’ I agreed, ‘she adores dancing. Look, there she is, coming in from the terrace. Why don’t you bag her for yourself before a queue forms?’

  ‘Good idea,’ he muttered, cheering up distinctly. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Susie.’ He headed off purposefully towards Rose.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw Luke being waylaid by one of the black-clad teenagers, who stood meaningfully in his path until with a resigned smile he led her off to dance. It would have been nice if he’d been about to ask me to dance but he’d looked as he’d been heading for Rose, not me. The last thing we needed right now was Jeremy and Luke in a neck and neck to get to Rose first. I felt certain that Jeremy would have been much more sanguine about the dancing if he hadn’t been afraid his wife was going to spend too many numbers locked in Luke’s arms. She’d been busy, dashing around doing one thing and another, but it had been noticeable, to me at least, that each time she chose to relax she did so in Luke’s company. I had a chill feeling of disquiet. Was she playing with the idea of laying an old ghost to rest once and for all before she finally settled down? I hoped she knew what the hell she was doing - and what she was risking. Jeremy didn’t strike me as the sort of man who’d forgive his wife a fall by the wayside or two.

  With admirable single-mindedness the two teenagers annexed Luke completely for the next hour or so. They stuck to his side like glue, so he had no chance to talk to any one else, let alone dance with Rose. They followed him to the bar and outside for a breath of fresh air and since they apparently had no shame in the pursuit of what they wanted I wouldn’t have put it past them to have hovered casually outside the gents while he was occupied inside. They were more effective than a whole posse of chaperones. Luke accepted it with remarkably good grace, merely rolling his eyes at me expressively while showing the more gothic of the two girls some advanced rock-and-roll steps. Arthur Crown’s music was getting steadily more modern as the older generation went home. By the time the teenagers’ parents insisted that this time they really were going to drag their reluctant offspring away we’d moved up to the early sixties. They departed with longing glances over their shoulders and looking very pleased with themselves. I expected their form common-room would be alive with some colourful stories on Monday morning.

  When Luke finally got his freedom I was dancing with Arnaud, so it would hardly have been politic to say I felt like a drink and promptly abandon him while I made a beeline for another man. I had enough of a guilty conscience about Arnaud as it was. I’d neglected him shamefully this evening. Even with the blasted raffle tickets to sell I could have spent more time with him, I realised, not caring to examine my motives too closely. I saw Luke wave a casual goodbye to the teenagers, then head straight for Rose on the other side of the room. Within seconds they were making a tight little couple in the middle of the dance floor. Jeremy stood in the doorway, watching them, looking displeased. With a sinking heart I thought I’d have to risk seriously offending Arnaud and do a Ladies’ Excuse Me when with immaculate timing Arthur Crown announced he was playing a couple of fast ones to get everyone’s blood moving then he must stop for fifteen minutes or so as he was parched. I could have flung my arms around his portly figure and kissed him as they broke into ‘Twist and Shout’. I’d defy anyone to have a clinch while doing the Twist.

  As soon as the music stopped there was a mass exodus towards the bar, the band leading the charge. I grabbed Arnaud’s hand and made my way casually towards Luke and Rose, who were standing at the back of the crowd waiting for the worst of the queue to subside. Rose shot me a heavily significant look and raised her eyebrows while I introduced the two men. ‘You enjoy taking risks, don’t you?’ she murmured under her breath as the two men were sizing each other up. Judging by the quality of the vibes that hung thick upon the air, I doubted they would ever be bosom buddies.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked blankly.

  She gave me a feline and inscrutable look. ‘Not even I have ever deliberately brought both my men together at the same time.’

  Luke decided the queue had subsided enough to go and get the drinks and commandeered Arnaud to help him. I waited until they were out of earshot and then looked at Rose and said clearly, ‘Luke isn’t my man, but from the way you’ve been going on I wouldn’t be surprised if half the party thought he was yours.’

  She smiled in a particularly annoyingly knowing way. ‘Do I detect a little bit of the old green-eyed monster here? Honestly, Susie, there I am, keeping your seat warm for you and stopping anyone else getting their hands on him, and you’re getting all narky about it.’

  She fished in her ridiculously tiny bag for her cigarettes. ‘You must have it bad,’ she said as she lit one. ‘I’ve never known you get jealous before.’

  ‘I’m not,’ I protested, and realised to my surprise that it was absolutely true. I really couldn’t give a damn whom Luke spoke to or whom he danced with. Rather in the way that you probe a sore tooth when it stops hurting, just to make sure it’s still there, I looked over to where his fair head caught the light as he spoke to the barman and tried to whip up a bit of feeling. Not a single heart-string twanged. Neither did anything less exalted heat up. He was just a good-looking, OK, very good-looking, bloke I liked. But didn’t desire. It felt rather odd after all that fevered thinking about him. And disappointing. I’d been enjoying my visions of being Susie the man-trap. Still, at least it solved the problem of what to do about him and Arnaud.

  Rose blew a smoke ring in the air, looking superior and sceptical. The men were coming back with the glasses, so I shrugged and said, ‘Seriously, Rose, if you really want to have Flavia banging on for the next few weeks about making an exhibition of yourself in public, go on wrapping yourself around Luke by all means, otherwise I’d cool it if I was you.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Rose thoughtfully. I held my breath as I saw a knee
-jerk give-two-fingers-to-Flavia reaction battle with a little common sense, and let it out in relief as she nodded in acceptance. ‘No one else dances as well as him,’ she grumbled, ‘but I get what you’re saying.’ Then she grinned and whispered, ‘Do you want me to take Arnaud off your hands for a couple of dances so you can have a go at Luke for yourself?’ She did just that, holding out her hands to Arnaud the moment the music started up again so that he couldn’t refuse.

  I smothered a smile, neither of them looked too happy about it, and turned back to talk to Luke who was still finishing his drink, when Stephen appeared at my side and grabbed my hand, saying, ‘Come on, Susie, you’re on for a bop, aren’t you?’

  I was pulled willy-nilly into the still-substantial crowd, wondering what Liddy was going to say about this. Nothing good, I’d bet. Stephen had been drinking steadily all evening, and though he wasn’t obviously drunk there was a careful enunciation in his speech and a glitter in his eyes that gave the game away. I’d been within earshot when Liddy demanded they go home and he’d refused flatly with an inebriated obstinacy. She was now sitting at a table at the side of the room, bristling with put-upon indignation and refusing to dance, foot tapping impatiently and watching us with an eagle eye. It didn’t do anything for my coordination. Then my feet got even more tangled up with each other as Hamish sat down next to her and she leant towards him, saying something with a frown that was visible even at this distance. Stephen had one arm firmly around my waist as he moved arrhythmically to the music, his other hand was resting heavily on my shoulder. I felt his clinch was more for support than the pleasure of being near my body; in fact I was being held so close I knew it was only for support, but I could imagine what it looked like. I wondered whether he would fall over if I stepped backwards out of his grip, and decided avoiding the excruciating embarrassment of apparently making a play for my boss in front of Hamish wasn’t worth the risk of Stephen toppling like a felled oak and braining himself on the parquet floor. While I thinking of how I could persuade him to sit down, judging from his closed eyes and dreamy expression I was going to have great difficulty getting through to him, Rose and Luke shimmied into view. So much for her dancing with Arnaud. Stephen was tapped on the shoulder by Hamish, who said in a no-nonsense sort of voice, ‘Hey, you’ve monopolised Susie for long enough. It’s my turn now.’