Midnight Girls
Page 28
‘What was me? I mean, who was me? I mean …’ Romily stopped, confused. What am I asking him? Maybe going for a drink with this man had not been such a good idea. He seemed a bit mad.
He leant closer again, his expression earnest. ‘One night in New York I had a really bad experience. I got on the wrong side of this guy and he ordered a couple of his heavies to take me out and teach me a lesson. They drove me to God knows where, threw me out of their car, dragged me into an alley and proceeded to beat the living crap out of me. It was not pretty. But the girl who found me was. And I think she was you.’
Romily gasped. She saw the whole thing in her mind instantly. But that poor man had been badly beaten – his face swollen, his eyes puffy slits, and all covered in blood. He’d been nothing like this extremely handsome man. ‘That was you?’ she said incredulously.
His face cleared and he smiled broadly. ‘Sure was. Theodore Mitchell at your service. But you can call me Mitch.’
Chapter 30
Foughton Castle
Scotland
‘WELL, ALLEGRA – WHAT do you suggest you do with yourself now?’ Her father leant back behind his desk and pressed his fingertips together while he glared at her.
Her heart had sunk when he’d summoned her into his study after dinner. It was like some kind of Victorian interview between the pater familias and the youngest son sent down from the ’Varsity in disgrace. And, by the looks of his bloodshot eyes, he’d already been at the brandy.
‘I thought I’d move to London and find a job,’ she said, trying not to show that she was nervous of him.
‘Really?’ His lip curled. ‘As what?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll find something.’
‘I suppose you could be like Miranda and get yourself a shitty little job on a pointless society magazine, but I’d hoped for more from you.’ He sighed. ‘You’ve turned out as useless as the others.’
I won’t cry, she told herself, clenching her teeth. I won’t let him upset me.
‘I suppose you’ll want more money. What you were living on in Oxford won’t be enough in London. You can stay at Onslow Square until you’ve sorted yourself out and I’ll see about raising your allowance.’
‘I don’t need that,’ she replied in a loud voice, almost to her own surprise.
‘Don’t you?’ Her father raised his eyebrows. ‘You think you’ll get by without anything more, do you?’
‘I can look after myself,’ she said proudly. ‘I don’t need your money – any of it.’
An expression of irritation crossed his face. ‘Well, you haven’t done very well so far. And you’ve only got your A-levels now you’ve thrown away your chance of a degree, so God alone knows what kind of job you’re going to get.’ His eyes drifted down to her thighs, bare below her cut-off denim shorts. ‘Or perhaps you think you’re going to find a man to pay for you.’
Icy rage filled her breast. ‘I don’t need a man to look after me. And I don’t need you either! You’ve never given a damn about me so I don’t know how you dare be disappointed in me now!’ She jumped to her feet. ‘And you can keep your stupid allowance! I don’t bloody well need it, any of it!’
Her father slammed his hand on the desk and roared, ‘Piss off then, you ungrateful little bitch! And don’t come back until you’ve learned a little humility.’
‘Fine by me!’ yelled Allegra, and marched out of the study, slamming the door behind her. Then she ran upstairs to her bedroom and sobbed into her pillow, half afraid that he would come after her, ready to deal out more of the blows he had distributed so readily in the past.
Just as London’s high society was heading out of town for the last dusty days of the sweltering summer, Allegra was making her way there. It was the only place she could think of to go. She was furious with her father: as usual, he hadn’t even tried to understand her. He had no sympathy for her over what had happened and she was full of resentment that he’d never so much as patted her on the shoulder for managing to get into Oxford in the first place. After all, Miranda hadn’t even passed her A-levels without spending almost four years at a very expensive crammer. And while she nominally worked at a glossy magazine, it was actually only in the subscriptions department. Miranda’s title guaranteed her a flashy social life and entrée to the best parties, but no one could pretend she was a go-getter. She was just waiting for the right husband to come along and provide her with the London flat, the country house and the cluster of children. Fine, if it made her happy.
That’s all Dad thinks I’m good for, too. But I need more than that, I need to do something with my life. I hardly register on his radar – the youngest daughter in his enormous family. He probably doesn’t even remember I exist half the time. Well, I’m damn’ well going to make him notice me.
The problem was, what could she do? She hadn’t been entirely sure what an English degree would equip her for in the first place, and now she didn’t even have that. Whatever I do, I need to be free, she decided. And I have to have a go at doing something amazing.
She couldn’t think of anywhere else so went to the Kensington house, which felt empty and unloved. Even the housekeeper was on her annual leave, so the fridge was unstocked and there was a thin coating of dust everywhere.
I can’t stay here forever, she told herself. I might as well live at home if I do that. And I’m going to prove I can make it on my own.
The problem was, all her friends were still up at their universities. In two years’ time, there’d be a rush of people flooding to London, looking for flatmates and places to live. Right now, she was on her own, living on the last of her allowance. At the end of the month, there’d be nothing. Her father had been true to his word and arranged to have it stopped.
I’ll talk to Miranda, she decided, see what she’s got to say.
*
She met her big sister for dinner in one of her favourite Chelsea hangouts.
Miranda really is the most roaring Sloane, thought Allegra as they ate the house burger with goose-fat chips.
It wasn’t just that her sister naturally fitted the brief, it was that she actively tried to fulfil all the criteria. Apart from her long blonde hair, which she constantly flicked away from her face, her sunglasses and her Sloane wardrobe of jeans, frilly, flowery tops and boots, she also talked in an almost unintelligible drawl, chain smoked Silk Cut, and was preoccupied only by her social life: a round of lunches at fashionable restaurants near her office, and evenings at pubs in Fulham and Kensington, dinner parties in Belgravia flats, or dancing in Chelsea nightclubs. She managed to fit skiing and country-house weekends into this packed schedule, but all that left her with barely enough energy for the requisite amount of shopping and gossiping.
‘It’s just, like, soooo exhausting at the moment! I’ve got a fortnight with the Cable-Johnsons in Rock, then straight off for a weekend at home. I’m taking Mitty, Annabel and Pogo, then back here ’cos I couldn’t get any more bloody holiday out of work – can you believe it? Absolutely everybody else is going to St Trop for another week as the Greens are having their party and it’s going to be crazy. In September, I’ve got four weddings and only one in London …’
Allegra sat there and listened and wondered how Miranda was ever going to be able to help her. Eventually she managed to break in long enough to ask if there was any work going at the magazine, but her sister looked doubtful.
‘I don’t know, sweetie, it’s really, really difficult to get in. People are desperate to work there, and you have to be so well connected it’s unreal. I’ll ask lovely Sue, my editor, but I can’t promise anything, particularly when you’ve got no experience.’
‘I don’t mind doing anything – I’ll man the phones.’
But Miranda just blinked at her.
‘I’m desperate, Miranda, I don’t have any money. I need a job.’
Her sister sipped at her Pinot Grigio and reached for another Silk Cut. ‘I can’t believe you had a row with Daddy,’ she said. ‘Dar
ling, I wouldn’t dare! I don’t know what I’d do without my allowance. That’s another reason not to come near the mag, it pays an absolute pittance! All the girls have private incomes, it’s the only way we can manage.’
Allegra sighed. ‘Can you think of anything else?’ she asked at last. ‘I really need to find somewhere to live and something to do. I’m getting desperate.’
‘Look, darling, I’ll ask at work. Someone might need a nanny or something. And as it happens, I’ve got some girlfriends who are looking for a flatmate,’ Miranda said. ‘It’s just a box room so hardly anyone wants it. You might get it cheap if you offer to do the cleaning. Their Bulgarian girl’s just buggered off home.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Outer reaches of Chelsea. Far end of the King’s Road. Bit too close to the suburbs for me, but Susie seems to like it. I’ll ask her about it, if you like.’
As autumn began to swirl about the streets of Kensington and Chelsea, Allegra tried not to think about the beauty of Oxford when the new term began. This year she had been going to live out of college in a Victorian terrace house on Divinity Road with a couple of other students from her year. Imogen’s college offered accommodation in the second year, so she was moving into a set in Peckwater Quad, sharing a panelled sitting room with two tiny bedrooms leading off it. Allegra had been looking forward to experiencing digs instead of the slightly suffocating college buildings.
Fuck it, I don’t care, she told herself firmly. I’m going to have a great time. I mean, I’m in London, for God’s sake! If I can’t have a good time, here, I’m a miserable specimen of humanity.
Her mother begged her to stay on in Onslow Square and live rent-free, but Allegra refused. Instead, she took the offer of Susie’s boxroom, which came at a cut-price rent as long as Allegra tackled the cleaning twice a week – something she soon discovered was a mammoth job as neither Susie nor her flatmate Coco so much as lifted a finger to wash a cup. But then, like her, they’d never had to.
Cleaning the bathroom and washing the dishes came as quite a shock to Allegra but she soon found it almost therapeutic. It felt as though she was earning her own way at last. Every dish cleaned was another step away from her failure at Oxford and towards independence.
Susie and Coco didn’t take much notice of Allegra: she was six years younger than they were and they were in the full flow of London life. They thought she was sweet-natured and pretty, and having a lodger-cum-cleaner with a title gave them a little added cachet, but apart from that, they left her alone. For the first time in a long while, Allegra was truly lonely. She kept getting invitations to parties in Oxford with people who were still there, and couldn’t bring herself to accept. It was just too painful.
So she whiled her days away, wandering up and down the King’s Road, reading in Chelsea Library, buying endless cups of coffee in cafés, or going to Peter Jones for tea and cake.
Is life passing me by? she wondered. I’m only twenty. Can it really all be over?
A casual recommendation by Susie brought her a job in a candle shop on Walton Street where she soon learnt to consider scented candles one of the most pointless inventions in the world. Still, it used up a few hours every day, earned her some cash and gave her plenty of dreaming time to wonder what on earth she was going to do with herself next.
A letter arrived, forwarded to her from Foughton Castle.
Allegra chérie,
How are you? It’s been too long! I miss you! I’ve just had a lovely long email from Imogen, who filled me in on some of your news. I was so sorry to hear that you got sent down – what horrible bad luck. You’re probably feeling a bit low after all that but, knowing you, you’re raring to have a go at something else.
I was going to go to Oxford to see Midge but she’s working too hard at the moment, she says. I think she’s depressed about a boy – do you know anything about it?
If you’re not busy, why don’t you come and see me? I’ve just got back to Paris from New York and am having an amazing time. I’ll tell you the whole story when I see you, but in a nutshell I’ve fallen madly, madly in love and he’s wonderful! Come and meet him …
I don’t know where you’re living and Imogen didn’t say, so I’m sending this to Foughton and hope it reaches you. You can get me on this number. Do you have the same mobile? Perhaps you didn’t get my texts. Be in touch, I’d love to hear all your news.
Lots of love,
Romily x
P.S. I haven’t forgotten … MG4E
Allegra finished reading the letter and dropped it on the kitchen table. She hadn’t seen or been in touch with her friend now for over a year. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to contact her. She knew it was stupid and irrational but whenever she thought of Romily, she remembered her trip to Paris, and the very thought of that made her palms clammy and her heart race.
I don’t know why, she told herself. It’s not as if she did anything wrong. Something shadowy flickered at the back of her mind, but she refused to look at it or think about it.
She’s in love. The idea made Allegra feel simultaneously nauseated and depressed. She looked at the letter again. Perhaps I’ll call her. Maybe it would be fun to go to Paris.
But she knew in her heart that she wouldn’t go.
Chapter 31
Scotland
January 2004
IMOGEN RETURNED FROM the first term of her second year feeling thoroughly disconsolate. Back in Oxford, she’d been told in no uncertain terms that she had to pull her socks up.
‘It’s been noted that you wasted your potential in the first year,’ her tutor had said. Although he’d been perfectly friendly and had plied her with sherry as usual, he’d been quite clear about what the college expected from her. ‘We know you’re capable of more. I don’t want to see you waste your time here, becoming some kind of social gadfly. There are too many people who take that path. Please don’t be one of them.’
There wasn’t much chance of that any more. Without Sam and Allegra, Imogen had lost her entire social circle; invitations to the smart set’s parties dried up with startling speed, and without Allegra to manage things she no longer had entrée to Oxford’s smartest clubs and houses. In fact, she had no one at all except for Nick, with whom she was sharing a set, who was still her tutorial partner.
‘Ah, love,’ he said sympathetically. ‘No more tales of the high life from you! Don’t worry, you’ve still got me.’
And, thank goodness, she did. Nick was always ready to listen, and always keen to pop open a bottle and sympathise while she talked about Xander, which she did a lot.
She simply couldn’t help it. He was like an obsession with her. Although she was working hard at her second-year studies, she could think of little else when she wasn’t deep in Chaucer or Paradise Lost.
‘Do you think he’s going to go out with me one day?’ she would ask Nick, having gone through every facet of the relationship from beginning to end all over again.
‘He might,’ Nick would say, putting on another Kate Bush track. ‘It’s definitely possible. But I think you should wait for him to come after you. No bloke likes a sure thing – let him do some of the chasing. But, to be honest, from what you’ve said, it doesn’t sound like he’s going to.’
Imogen tried to listen to his wise words but the longing for Xander was overwhelming, despite what he’d said to her in the temple. Even though he’d told her he didn’t think their liaison would ever go anywhere, she was powerless to resist his lure. She spent hours trailing round Oxford, from library to library, from pub to café to restaurant, hoping she might run into him by chance. On more than one occasion, she found herself walking past the St Margaret’s Road house late at night, wondering if she dared knock on the door. Once, she even stood outside on the front step for five minutes before she quailed and hurried away. Every day she checked her pigeon hole, hoping that he would send her a note, an invitation, something … anything … but he never did.
What am I g
oing to do? she agonised. How can I see him again? I know if I did I could convince him to give us a chance.
Allegra was her best hope, but she had no interest in coming back to Oxford. Imogen tried to invite her for a visit but she was resolute.
‘No way,’ she said firmly when Imogen phoned her and suggested it. ‘I’m not going back, ever. You come to me if you want.’
But Imogen was working too hard to get away, and anyway, what was the point of that when Xander was here in Oxford? Unless, of course, he was in town. ‘What’s Xander up to?’ she said casually, but Allegra guessed at once.
‘Oh, no, honey, I’m not putting you two together again! I won’t expose you to that. He’s a menace, Midge. Honestly, I’m doing it for your own good. Xander’s going off the rails these days and I don’t want him to take you with him.’
If Allegra had been trying to stoke Imogen’s obsession, she couldn’t have done better. Now Imogen couldn’t fight the powerful conviction that Xander needed her, depended on her, even if he didn’t know it.
The Christmas holidays came and she went back to Scotland, feeling miserable. With Allegra in London, there was no reason to go to Foughton. Even her parents noticed how downcast Imogen was, and tried to cheer her up, but it was no good. She moped about, unable to focus on anything, losing weight through her lack of appetite, believing that for her life was over.
She was lying on her bed one afternoon reading, trying to quench her thirst for romance with her favourite Georgette Heyer novels instead of studying Shakespeare. The doorbell rang downstairs and she thought nothing of it until she heard her mother call for her.
She sighed, closed her novel and got up. At the bedroom door, she shouted, ‘What?’
‘There’s someone here to see you,’ called Jeannie.
‘Who?’
‘Come and see. A surprise.’
Xander? she thought at once, and her heart raced. Don’t be so silly, she told herself. Of course it won’t be him. She went down the stairs grumpily and into the sitting room.