Midnight Girls

by Lulu Taylor

  But by the end of the holidays she’d been champing at the bit, keen to get back to her life in the big city. Her job was intense but stimulating and exciting, even if her trainee status meant she was given the boring jobs to do. She was hungry for knowledge and keen to get on.

  ‘What do you say we go out clubbing tonight?’ Fiona had said as they’d walked through Spitalfields on the way to work. ‘It’s Friday. I feel like dancing.’

  ‘I’m on for it,’ Imogen said. ‘I’ll need to cut loose after today.’

  ‘Good. So we’re on.’

  Now all she had to do was get through the next few hours and then she’d be free for some fun …

  They both managed to get away from work before seven, and after a dash home and a quickfire change, were on their way north by eight. In Camden they met up with some friends in a pub and settled down for some drinking, chatting and food before they went to the club at ten.

  Once they’d queued, paid, got rid of their coats and made their way inside, Imogen was ready to party. She was feeling pleasantly high after a few drinks in the pub and was eager to dance. She was wearing her favourite party dress: a blue Hervé Léger-style body-con bandage dress that she’d found in Reiss. The music was pumping out, the lights were flashing and she was keen to get moving.

  ‘I’m going to dance!’ she shouted to Fi over the noise.

  ‘OK! Do you want a drink? We’re going to the bar!’ Fi gestured over at the crowd buying drinks.

  Imogen shook her head and pushed her way through the onlookers and on to the dance floor. The beat was pounding out and one of her favourite songs was playing. She found herself a space and started dancing, not caring that she was alone. Life was good at the moment: it felt like she had a purpose and a future, and she was young, single, solvent and looking for fun.

  How long was she dancing before it happened? Perhaps twenty minutes. Perhaps longer. But, suddenly, in the middle of swaying to a sexy disco tune, she looked up and there he was.

  At first, she couldn’t believe it. I know him, she thought, confused, as she gazed into those blue eyes. Who is he? Then it came to her in a burst: Xander! But all she could say was, ‘You!’ while her stomach somersaulted with excitement, just as it always used to.

  He smiled at her, that gorgeous lopsided smile she’d once loved so much, and nodded. He looked the same: shorter hair and thinner, but still that same handsome face and those dark blue eyes that always seemed amused and faintly flirtatious. He took her hand, and the next moment he’d pulled her to him and was kissing her.

  The touch of his lips sent her whirling back through the years to that hot summer night in the Oxfordshire orchard, and the ecstasy she’d felt on the chilly floor of the temple. Just as before, she felt their mouths fit together, two halves of a whole, and the next moment she was sinking into the kiss, revelling in it, and nothing else around her existed. As they kissed, she felt his body against hers and she closed her arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, savouring the sweet smell of him and the warmth of his body.

  Xander, she thought, and a wave of deep but thrilling calm washed over her. It’s like being where I belong. Oh, Xander …

  When he broke the kiss, she blinked at him, surprised. Is this all real? She smiled at him and clutched his hand. He cocked his head towards the doorway and she nodded eagerly, Fiona and her other friends forgotten. She’d found him – or rather, he’d found her – and she couldn’t lose him now. She held his hand tightly as they made their way through the crowd and out of the club.

  Outside the club, they stopped on the pavement, taking no notice of the people milling about them.

  ‘It’s been a long time,’ he said, smiling, still holding her hand.

  ‘I can’t believe it’s you!’ she said breathlessly. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He said slowly, ‘I guess I was supposed to find you … I always had a feeling I would, you know.’ Then he kissed her again, wrapping her tightly in his arms as though he was worried she would float away if he let her go.

  They took a taxi back to Imogen’s flat. On the way, she texted Fi to let her know she’d left.

  She felt shivery with excitement one moment, and perfectly content the next. It was bizarre and yet it seemed completely normal that Xander should be sitting with her in the back of a black cab, heading back to her place, just as it been astonishing and yet natural for him to kiss her in the club. He had said that dramatic, almost unbearably exciting thing – ‘I was supposed to find you’ – and now he was asking her what she was doing these days, just as an old friend would.

  ‘Clever you,’ he said, when she’d told him. ‘I always knew you’d do well. You’re very sensible and sane.’ He grinned at her. ‘Unlike me.’

  ‘What are you up to?’ she asked. Allegra had said only that he still hung round with his old university crowd, and as far as she knew had no direction in his life.

  ‘Not much. I’m not as busy as Allegra is, that’s for sure. I saw her in Soho today and she was directing hundreds of builders, looking at curtain fabrics and deciding where to put steam rooms. She’s quite the entrepreneur these days.’

  ‘Yes. Her new club.’ Allegra had bought some premises the preceding autumn and now building work was beginning. ‘She’s doing amazingly well.’

  ‘Who’s this Adam?’ Xander asked. ‘He seemed to be hanging around a lot. A boyfriend?’

  ‘No … just a friend, I think. As far as I know.’ Imogen smiled at him, feeling shy again.

  ‘It’s lovely to see you, little Imogen,’ Xander said with the old tenderness in his voice.

  ‘You too.’ She smiled at him. I’m over you, she wanted to say. Your spell was broken years ago. But as soon as he’d kissed her, the enchantment had returned, as strong as ever. But why did he kiss me? What does it mean?

  Then she thought, I’m not going to question it. I’m just going to go with it and see what happens …

  Back at the flat, they opened a bottle of wine, sat down on the sofa and talked. Imogen told him about law school, about Fiona and the flat and her new life. Xander told her about a film he’d seen that day and loved. She listened and laughed, observing him while he talked, and remembering.

  ‘You’re such a good listener, you know?’ he said at last, when they had drained the bottle. ‘That’s what I always loved about you. You’re so easy to talk to. You make me feel calm. Not like most girls. They make me nervous.’

  ‘Do they?’ Imogen found that hard to believe: he had always seemed to attract women effortlessly. She longed to ask him if had a girlfriend at the moment, but it seemed too leading a question.

  Xander nodded. ‘I’m surrounded by James’s harem all the time. The Anxious Annies, I call them. Anxious because they’re worried one of them will snare James and marry him, get all the money and take him off the market. So they’re all busy trying to outwit each other in charming him. Naturally he loves it. He’s permanently in Switzerland for tax purposes these days, so I’m not living with him at the moment. I camp out in Onslow Square when I’m in Dad’s good books, and sleep on friends’ sofas when I’m not.’

  ‘Are you working?’

  Xander laughed and pulled a face. ‘No. Who would hire me? I can hardly tie my own shoelaces. I scraped a third from Oxford and I’ve done nothing since. I’m not proud of it. It’s just the way things have turned out.’ He leant forward and took her hand, gazing into her eyes. ‘That’s what I meant all those years ago … you always were too good for me. I’m just a wastrel.’

  She blinked at him. He was right, in a way. He’d left Oxford five years ago and had nothing to show for that time. But that didn’t mean there was no hope. ‘Xander …’ she whispered.

  He looked at her intently. ‘Would it be terribly inconvenient … I mean … would you mind … if I kiss you again?’

  ‘Come here,’ she said, and pulled him even closer.

  ‘There’s a bloke asleep in our sitting room,’ Fiona said, as she came
into the kitchen in her dressing gown the next morning. ‘Anyone I know?’

  ‘It’s an old friend of mine. I met him in the club last night and we came back here to talk.’

  ‘Ooh!’ Fiona made a saucy face and raised her eyebrows. ‘He’s good-looking, I can tell. So … nothing happened?’

  Imogen shook her head as she poured hot water over a teabag in a mug. They had kissed, tenderly and gently for a long time, until Xander had pulled away and said apologetically, ‘This is no reflection on your charms, Midge, but I’m absolutely bushed. Do you mind if I sleep?’ And then yawned hugely.

  She’d laughed because it was not the end to the evening she’d envisaged, but then, Xander always had excelled at not fulfilling her romantic dreams. She’d gone to find him a rug and, by the time she’d got back, he was sound asleep on the sofa, so she had tucked him up and left him there.

  ‘I’m heading out for a run,’ her flatmate said, appearing a few minutes later in her kit.

  ‘Not another run? You never stop,’ teased Imogen.

  ‘Got to keep my endorphins up.’ Fi grinned and hurried off.

  Imogen sat on the chair opposite the sofa, drank her tea and read the paper until Xander woke up, deliciously dishevelled and bleary-eyed.

  ‘Oh, good,’ he said with a smile when he saw her. ‘I was worried I’d dreamt you.’

  ‘Morning,’ she said. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

  ‘You angel. I would. But a shower first, if that’s all right …’

  After Xander’s shower they breakfasted together, both in high spirits. I still can’t believe he’s here, Imogen thought wonderingly as she watched him butter his toast or reach for the jam. It’s wonderfully normal. They were so relaxed, so comfortable together, as though they’d spent hundreds of mornings like this.

  ‘What are you doing today?’ he said, as they finished up their breakfast.

  ‘It’s Saturday. I don’t have anything particular planned … maybe some shopping.’ Imogen spoke casually but was terrified he would say he had to go now and slip out of her life again, lost for the third time.

  ‘Then why don’t we spend the day together?’

  Her heart contracted with joy and she felt a smile cover her face. ‘I’d love to.’

  ‘Good. I have to set off for a party later but I’m yours until then.’

  They spent a blissful day together, walking down to the river, across Tower Bridge and along the South Bank to Borough Market, where they wandered among the food stalls, tasting delicious morsels, and then bought tortilla wraps filled with spicy chicken and rocket and ate them in the garden of Southwark Cathedral, the sound of the choir singing an anthem drifting towards them as they sat on the low stone wall. Then they walked on, past the Globe Theatre and towards the towering chimney of Tate Modern, St Paul’s Cathedral sitting stately and imposing on the opposite bank. Xander said they should go and improve their minds with art so they went in and explored, talking and giggling together in a happy conspiracy of laughter while they admired the art.

  They were sitting in the café having afternoon tea, enjoying the splendid view of the gun-metal grey Thames and the magnificent domed cathedral that sat across it, when Xander looked at his watch. ‘Shit! I have to go.’

  ‘What?’ Imogen said, disappointment crashing through her. She stared down at the dirty cups and crumb-filled plates, trying to hide it.

  ‘I’ve got to get back to Onslow Square for my stuff and then it’s a drive out of London.’ He made a cross face. ‘I’d much rather stay with you.’

  ‘Me too,’ she said weakly. She’d been imagining that their day would morph seamlessly into the evening, and they would go out to dinner together, and it would turn into something even more wonderfully romantic than their time so far had been.

  ‘I promised Piers, that’s the thing.’ Xander frowned and thought for a moment. Then he said, ‘Tell you what … why don’t you come too? It’s going to be a bit wild but you won’t mind that, will you?’

  ‘Go with you?’ She brightened, remembering the parties she’d once gone to with Allegra and Xander. Would it be like those raucous, glamorous nights?

  ‘Sure. Come along. I’m sure Piers won’t mind. The more the merrier. I’ll call him to let him know there’ll be one extra.’

  ‘OK. I’ll come.’ What else was I ever going to do? When have I ever said no to Xander?

  ‘Just one condition. You have to wear black.’

  She went to the flat to locate a black cocktail dress and get ready while Xander made his way back to Onslow Square to change into his dinner jacket. He arrived at the flat in his battered MG, clean, freshly shaven, and looking devastatingly attractive in his DJ and black bow tie.

  ‘You look gorgeous, Midge,’ he said appreciatively when he saw her. ‘We’re going to make a pitstop on the way, I hope that’s all right.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, climbing in, and the next minute they were roaring through the London streets on their way east.

  They hadn’t been going long and had just passed through Whitechapel when Xander pulled off the main road and took a few turns until they were in a shabby street of down-at-heel Victorian terraces that had been turned into flats.

  ‘Won’t be a minute,’ he said with a charming smile. ‘You don’t mind waiting, do you? It’s not worth coming in.’

  She barely had a chance to speak before he’d disappeared. Imogen sat nervously in the dark car, wondering if anyone on the outside could see her sitting there alone. But, as he’d promised, Xander was back very soon.

  ‘All done and dusted,’ he said, starting up the car. The engine roared into life and he pulled away from the kerb. ‘Now it’s a bit of a drive, but worth it … you’ll see.’

  After fighting their way through the traffic and buses, they finally joined one of the artery roads out of the city and then the M1. As the motorway rolled away under their wheels, Imogen was overcome with tiredness, her head flopped back and she slept. When she woke, it was late evening.

  She yawned loudly.

  ‘Hello, sleepy head,’ Xander said, looking over at her. ‘You’re just in time. We’re nearly there.’

  She looked around, trying to work out where they were. They were travelling down the kind of English country lanes that could be anywhere.

  ‘We’re in Northamptonshire,’ he said, as if reading her mind. ‘And here we are!’

  They drove through a pair of enormous wrought iron gates and up a long driveway lined with lime trees before coming to a halt on a semi-circular gravelled carriage turn in front of a spectacular Jacobean mansion.

  ‘This is it.’ Xander turned off the engine. ‘Get ready to leave your inhibitions outside, Imogen. This kind of party requires a broad mind.’

  ‘I’m sure I can handle it,’ she said with a smile as she checked her make-up in the tiny visor mirror.

  ‘Good. Come on then. Let’s party!’

  The great arched oak door was opened by a man in black tie, with sandy thinning hair and sharp, pale blue eyes.

  ‘Ah, Xander!’ he cried as he saw them. ‘Well done, old chap. You’ll get the party started.’ He turned to Imogen.

  ‘This is Imogen,’ Xander introduced her. ‘Imogen – Piers.’

  ‘Delighted,’ purred his friend. ‘Any friend of Xander … as the saying goes. Please come in. Everything’s warming up nicely in the library.’

  He led them down the stone-floored hallway, on and on, past many rooms, until finally he opened a door and a burst of laughter and chatter greeted them.

  The bookshelves were filled with leather-bound volumes shut away behind wire screens; the remaining walls hung with large gilt-framed oil paintings and a collection of antique swords. Several people lounged about on sofas and armchairs, equally divided between men and women, the men in black tie and the girls in black dresses. They all looked very sophisticated and glamorous.

  Imogen looked about her, interested. The copious amounts of booze and drugs on displa
y gave her a hint as to what Xander had meant about her needing to be broad-minded. On a polished walnut table was a huge silver tureen full of crushed ice in which a dozen bottles were chilling, with another dozen ready on the table. Across the room on another table was a selection of other mood enhancers: a bowl of tablets, tiny tabs of acid laid out on leather writing folder, and other pharmaceuticals she didn’t recognise. The guests at this party were evidently intent on losing all constraints and letting rip.

  ‘I think you’ll see the theme emerging,’ murmured Xander in her ear. Her skin prickled pleasantly at the feel of his breath on her neck. ‘Even the hors d’oeuvres stay true to the colour scheme.’ He gestured at a large bowl of ice holding a crystal dish piled high with caviar, the black eggs moist and gleaming.

  ‘Xander, my man!’ roared another of the guests, a fleshy-faced man with pink cheeks and small round spectacles. ‘Wonderful to see you. Would you like a drink?’

  ‘Hello, Gawain. I certainly would. This is Imogen.’ Xander propelled her smoothly forward.

  ‘Gawain Tudor-Jones. How d’ye do?’ He bowed, offered Imogen his arm and led her towards the drinks table. ‘A drink for you too, dear Imogen?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said, smiling. Perhaps this was going to be fun. The public school crowd Xander ran with might have its faults but they always had good manners – at least, at first.

  Gawain gestured over at the table. ‘I’ve had quite a time finding champagne in a black bottle so we compromised on the Dom Pérignon OEnothèque 1995 – the bottle is actually a very, very dark green, but it’s got a black label and black foil, so we think it counts.’ He turned and called, ‘Robin, we’re ready for another bottle!’

  Yet another young man in black tie came forward, carrying a sword taken from the display on the wall. He went over to the silver tureen and pulled out a bottle. Holding it out wide by the base, he put the blade against the neck for a second, then took back his sword arm and with one strong stroke sliced through the bottle, decapitating it neatly at the neck and leaving a clean, diagonal edge. White foam fizzed up through the gap as Gawain darted forward with a pair of flutes.