Midnight Girls

by Lulu Taylor

  Allegra sighed and took off her sunglasses. Her usually clear eyes were bloodshot and swollen. ‘There’s been a bit of a row here, I’m afraid. I got sent down.’

  Imogen gasped, horrified. ‘Oh, no! No! I can’t believe it!’ Tears of mortification sprang to her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry. Oh, God, it’s all my fault.’

  ‘No, it’s not. They were quite clear with me. Cheating – as they called it – was only part of the reason. I was on borrowed time anyway. My work record was abysmal. They said they’d sent people down for less. I’d only just scraped a pass in Mods, and if the Anglo-Saxon paper mark was discounted, then I’d failed very badly. It’s not your fault. You did your best for me. I’m sorry I let you down.’ Allegra put her sunglasses back on. ‘I seem to have let everybody down. Mum’s furious.’

  Tears spilled out of Imogen’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She sniffed.

  ‘Oh, don’t. You’ll set me off again if you’re not careful.’

  ‘But I can’t imagine Oxford without you …’ She gulped back a sob, not wanting to break down completely.

  ‘You’ll probably do a lot better once I’m not there to distract you. You got a decent two: one in Mods, but we both know you can get a first if you put your mind to it, and you’ve got two years left to go for it.’

  ‘I don’t want to be there without you!’ Imogen choked out. She felt desperate at the idea of facing Oxford without Allegra. ‘I’ll leave as well! It’s horribly unfair. Why can’t they give you another chance? It’s not as though you’re the worst offender – look at all those idiots and layabouts who manage to stay on. Why you?’

  ‘I got caught. Everything went wrong. It’s my own fault, Midge, I know that. I partied too hard, that’s all. Everyone who does that has to be able to pull something out of the bag when the crunch comes, or risk being sent down. I lost that day after the Gaveston, and it cost me big time.’ Allegra leaned over and took her friend’s hand. ‘I appreciate the sentiment, but if you dare leave Oxford because of me, I’ll bloody kill you. Understand? Not another word about it. I’ll think of something to do with myself, don’t you worry.’

  It’s strange, thought Imogen, but a load seems to have been lifted off Allegra’s shoulders. It ought to be the other way around – after all, she’s lost her chance of a degree and hasn’t got a clue what she wants to do. But she seems a little less troubled. That’s weird.

  But she didn’t say anything. She felt the two of them growing closer again now that they were back in Scotland together, healing the rift that had grown between them during the last two terms. They had plenty of time now to relax and talk and learn to be their old selves again. Allegra was deeply in disgrace at home, and forbidden from enjoying herself during the summer holiday: no parties, no trips to London, no travelling abroad. She had to spend the summer at Foughton and think over her sins.

  ‘It’s ridiculous, really,’ she said to Imogen as they lay in the garden sunbathing. ‘I’m usually the good one, in comparison to Xander. They haven’t the first clue about what he gets up to and now he’s out in St Tropez, partying at Club 55, and I’m stuck here all on my own. Mum and Dad have gone away and there’s no one here till the end of the summer when the shooting parties start.’

  ‘Yes. It’s very silly,’ murmured Imogen from her place on the rug. Xander’s name sent a quiver of excitement through her. She had been trying not to think yearningly of him, but it was hard. After the Gaveston, she’d longed to see and speak to him but it had been impossible: exams followed on immediately, and then it was the end of term.

  The last time she had seen him was only a fleeting glimpse at the Magdalen College Commemoration Ball, held just before they’d all gone down for the long vacation. She went with Sam but had taken special care with her appearance in case she saw Xander, choosing a long gown of dark mossy green chiffon that flowed over a darker silk shell, with a high empire-line waist from which her bosom emerged, luscious and snowy. Allegra had lent her a pair of real emerald earrings that sparkled in her ears, and she’d gone to the ball looking like a ripe forest nymph and wishing, treacherously, that it was Xander instead of Sam who was taking her there.

  Nevertheless, it had been a wonderful night, full of fun, enchantment and dancing, and just before dawn she saw Xander in his tail coat and the Commandoes bow tie of quartered black and red, wandering through the cloisters and smoking a cigarette, but he hadn’t seen her. At seven a.m., she and Sam had gathered with the other ball survivors on a great stretch of grass for the early-morning photograph: hundreds of them in various states of dishevelment after the long night. Sam had put his arm around her and grinned broadly at the camera, while Imogen had been unable to stop herself from pulling away from him, scanning the crowd for the face she really wanted to see, but he’d been as elusive as a dream.

  Perhaps I imagined what happened in the orchard, she thought, pressing her face into the rug and closing her eyes against the sun’s glare. But she knew it had been real – that extraordinary and tender moment when she’d offered herself to him to assuage his loneliness. None of her fantasies had been as amazing as the real thing.

  Maybe Xander had forgotten what had happened that night in the soft summer darkness. Or, if he remembered, should she even expect him to care? She’d made no demands of him, simply given him what she could. He couldn’t have the first idea that she loved him, or that she was willing to give him anything he wanted from her. If she could only see him again, she would know, but she had no idea when he’d be back from his glamorous jaunts.

  Well, I’ll just be grateful that I had that magic moment with him, a tiny slice of his life when he belonged entirely to me. I can live off that if I have to.

  It was an unusually hot summer and Foughton sparkled with almost incandescent beauty against the blue sky and the sparkling loch. Imogen spent nearly every day there, arriving mid-morning to find Allegra lazing on the terrace over a pot of coffee and toast and honey. They revelled in having the place to themselves, with only the housekeeper there to provide meals and tidy up. Just as when they were girls, they read magazines, played music and chatted endlessly, though now their conversations were a little more grown up than before. They’d take picnics of wine and strawberries and wander off to find a warm, heathery spot where they could sunbathe and read; some afternoons they went boating on the loch or, if it was a really sunny day, they’d sit in the cool of the pink marble temple, smoking and talking endlessly about everything. Imogen would often end up staying for dinner and then the night, when it was too late and she’d had too much wine to drive back.

  ‘We hardly ever see you,’ complained her parents. ‘Can’t you stay home occasionally?’

  So she did, but she always missed Foughton. It fed her romantic soul and felt more like her home than the place where she actually lived. Everything at the castle was dear to her, and sometimes she crept away and let herself into Xander’s bedroom, so she could open his wardrobe and touch his clothes, lie on his bed and bury her nose in his pillow, trying to find some scent of him.

  ‘Tell me about Sam,’ Allegra said one day, as they lazed on the rug on the lawn. ‘Isn’t he coming up to see you?’

  ‘Yes. Tomorrow.’ Imogen shifted uncomfortably. It had been Sam’s idea to come and visit; she’d tried to put him off. She’d managed to get away at the end of term without confronting the fact that she’d been unfaithful to him, and since then had put him almost completely out of her mind, as a problem to be considered at some later date. Far from Oxford, she felt far from him as well, and had been avoiding his calls and emails. She felt as though she had absolutely no need for him at the moment and wished he hadn’t persisted in this trip up to see her. He was going to make her think about him, force her to admit to herself that she didn’t love him, and that Xander had proved to her that it was just a sham relationship. She felt cross with him, all the more because she knew he was the innocent party and his only fault was to love her.

  Allegra’s curiosity w
as pricked by Imogen’s reticence. She propped herself up on her elbows and observed Imogen over the top of her Raybans. ‘Aren’t you looking forward to it?’

  ‘Um – not really. I’d much rather he stayed away, actually.’ She spoke slowly, surprised to hear herself say it out loud.

  ‘Oh?’ Allegra raised her eyebrows. ‘That doesn’t sound very promising. Well, you hardly ever talk about him. Not really a sign of devouring love. What’s the matter with him? He seems lovely. And he obviously thinks the world of you. I saw him at the Magdalen Ball – he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.’

  ‘He’s fine, it’s just … I don’t know.’ Imogen rolled over, feeling helpless. ‘I don’t think it’s right for the long term.’ She wished she could confide in Allegra. She was dying to talk to someone about it all, but this was one thing she couldn’t confide in her best friend.

  ‘He doesn’t light your fire, huh?’ Allegra grinned. ‘I understand. We’ll have to find you someone else – devilishly handsome and a tiger in the sack. We need to get your loins really burning. I’ll ask Xander. Maybe he’s bringing someone back with him.’

  ‘Oh – is Xander coming home?’ Imogen tried to sound casual but at the mention of his name she felt her stomach turn in lazy excited loops, like the slow cycle of a washing machine.

  ‘Today, apparently. He’s been on yachts, off yachts, up and down the French coast and I don’t know what. But he’s coming back and bringing a couple of friends.’

  ‘Girlfriends?’ Imogen asked, a little too fast.

  ‘Dunno. We’ll have to wait and see. He should be back any minute. Depends if he comes straight back or goes out to Hopetoun for a bit. They’re having a house party there, apparently, and he was at school with the boys.’ Allegra turned her attention back to the magazine she was reading. ‘Maybe you could bring Sam over here. There’re bound to be some impromptu rave ups. But, of course, he might want to be on his own with you.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Imogen said, cursing Sam for turning up at just the wrong moment. She didn’t want him here, she knew that: this was her place – hers and Allegra’s and Xander’s – and Sam’s presence would only be jarring and wrong.

  But she was on tenterhooks after that, knowing Xander was already close.

  *

  She was almost asleep on the rug, which was now in the welcome shade since the sun had moved behind the trees. Allegra had gone inside to get some drinks and Imogen felt peaceful and relaxed, thinking only about the buzzing of summer insects and the wind in the trees.

  Suddenly she felt something pressed against her mouth. Her eyes flew open. For the first instant she saw only a shadow against the bright sky, then she realised that Xander’s face was close to hers. He was crouching next to her and pressing a raspberry to her lips. She opened her mouth to gasp and he popped the soft red fruit inside. It burst with sweet deliciousness on her tongue.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, smiling at her, and sat down beside her on the rug.

  All the breath felt knocked from her body. He looked unbearably handsome, with the sun he’d soaked into his golden-brown skin in St Tropez. His hair had lightened several shades and his blue eyes were darker than ever. She felt as if she were quivering all over and hoped he couldn’t see the naked longing in her eyes.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, her voice sounding surprisingly normal considering her turmoil. ‘Have you had a nice holiday?’

  ‘Yeah. Wicked.’

  ‘It’s lovely to see you,’ she said, trying not to sound too breathless.

  He smiled at her. ‘You too. How have you been?’

  ‘Fine. Just chilling here with Allegra. We’ve had a wonderful time.’ It all sounded so normal – just two old friends chatting – but inside she was crying, Do you remember? Do you remember what happened between us? She said casually, ‘How’s Temple?’

  ‘Temple?’ He was surprised. ‘OK, I guess.’

  ‘The last time I saw her, she was being taken away in an ambulance.’ Imogen watched him carefully. When we were together at the Gaveston … she added silently.

  Xander looked amused. ‘I forgot you didn’t know what had happened. She was absolutely fine, but she broke her bloody leg. Not a serious break and she was damn’ lucky to get off so lightly. But you’d think the world had come to a bloody end, the way she carried on, hobbling around on her stupid crutches and expecting everyone to be her sodding servant and complaining endlessly about her suffering.’

  ‘So … are you back together?’ She hoped her voice didn’t sound too breathless but it felt as though everything was hanging on his reply.

  ‘No. We’re not. She gave me a short sharp lesson in how tiresome she is, and that was that.’

  ‘Oh.’ Relief rushed through her, as welcome as a cool drink. He’s single. As far as I know … There were, after all, other girls in the world besides Temple: gorgeous, desirable creatures – and Xander could take his pick.

  He put a hand on her arm, making her skin prickle where he touched it. She hoped he wouldn’t notice that she was almost trembling. He said softly, ‘You’re looking delectable. Like a sunburnt summer maiden.’ He reached out and tucked a loose strand of her hair back behind her ears. Being so close to him almost made her gasp out loud.

  ‘Xander …’ she began, but was interrupted by a shout.

  ‘Hurray, you’re home!’ Allegra put down her tray of drinks and raced across the grass to the rug. She jumped into Xander’s arms, knocking him into Imogen and pushing them both down so that, for a moment, the three of them lay together in a kind of embrace. Then Allegra sat up and said, ‘So how was it, you lucky bastard?’

  ‘Riotous.’ Xander stayed lying on the rug, grinning up at his sister. ‘Totally depraved, of course. I’ve brought Ollie and Luca back. They’re putting their stuff upstairs. I thought we could have a barbie tonight.’

  Imogen lay beside him, unable to move, full of suppressed pleasure at being next to him.

  ‘Great. Poor old Midge and I have been bored stiff on our own. We need some sexy men. Well, I do. You don’t, do you, Midge? Her boyfriend is coming up tomorrow.’

  Xander turned to her, raising his eyebrows. ‘Your boyfriend? Imogen – you break my heart.’

  Damn. Why did Allegra have to mention that? She nodded slowly.

  ‘You’ll just have to bring him over here so I can tell him to do the right thing by you.’

  ‘You don’t need to do that,’ Allegra said. ‘He’s totally mushy over Midge. Worships the ground she walks on.’

  ‘So he should,’ Xander said with a grin. ‘Now, ladies, shall we get some of that lovely lemonade you’ve brought out? I’m parched.’

  It’s the damn’ flirting, Imogen told herself, as she got ready for dinner upstairs. That’s what makes it so difficult. He treats me like a little girl, but always with that edge, teasing me, pretending that he’s interested … Does it mean anything or not? Does he remember what happened? God, it’s so confusing.

  She examined her reflection, pleased that they’d been sunbathing so much recently. Her legs were a good colour, and she had sun-kissed arms and shoulders, and a pretty pink-brown tinge to her cheeks. She’d borrowed one of Allegra’s loose summer dresses which was a little too long and too tight, but that’s what came of being short and plump compared to her friend.

  On the way down to the lawn, she looked out of one of the windows and saw some people gathering on the lawn, Xander among them, now in shorts and a canary-yellow polo shirt. He’d obviously taken control of the barbecue and was monitoring it carefully while his friends stood around, drinking beers, smoking and chatting.

  Imogen was filled with a sense of happiness. Here she was: young and carefree, with a castle at her disposal, and the man she adored downstairs. They had a summer’s evening ahead of them when anything might happen … What pleasure. She shivered with anticipation and went down to join them.

  Xander’s friends were like him: casual but entirely confident, with the easy manner that came from knowi
ng the world well already, and from the vantage point of wealth and privilege. One, Luca, was an Italian who spoke perfect English. The other, Ollie, was an old school friend of Xander. Imogen took the glass of Pimm’s that was offered to her and settled down to watch the men and listen to their conversation, which was full of gossip about their recent trip to the South of France. When Allegra joined them, she was keen to party, pouring herself a large glass of wine. ‘It’s been so dull here!’ she declared. ‘Just Midge and me – no one’s come near the place for weeks and weeks!’

  ‘Haven’t we got a house party coming?’ asked Xander, putting some steaks on to the grill.

  ‘Yes – but that’s not exactly going to make it party central round here, is it? A load of old fogies and their tweeds. Hopefully I’ll have got away from here by the time they all arrive for the shooting.’

  ‘Have you got plans?’ Imogen said, surprised. Allegra hadn’t said anything about going anywhere.

  ‘I’m working on it. I’ve got to think about the future at any rate. I can’t stay here for the rest of my life. But let’s not talk about all that now.’ She lifted her glass. ‘Up your bums, everyone! Let’s get pissed.’

  Dinner was delicious: simple but just right. Xander barbecued the steaks perfectly and served them with the housekeeper’s buttery new potatoes and salads. Allegra kept their glasses topped up and the boys amused them with funny stories and gossip from the Mediterranean playground of the rich. The Scottish summer evening seemed to go on and on. It was not dark even at ten o’clock, though the sky was fading to lavender and there was a chill in the air after the warm day.

  ‘Shall we add a little spice to this party?’ asked Xander idly, and brought out a wrap. ‘Anyone for a pick-me-up?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Allegra promptly. She seemed to be in high spirits, Imogen thought, and looked wonderful as usual. Like Xander’s, her hair had taken on a lustrous golden sheen from the sun, and her floral mini dress looked effortlessly stylish and yet casual, teamed with pink flowery flip-flops. She had been flirting hard with Luca whose dark Italian looks, curly hair and strong jawline, had obviously taken her fancy.