‘I say,’ said James happily, ‘it’s beginning to get choppy.’
The boat, having left the harbour, was bucking like a bronco. Every few minutes the windows were entirely covered by angry grey water. Imogen’s stomach began to heave. All the chairs in the bar, she noticed, were chained to the floor. On her right, James, Cable and Nicky were talking about people she didn’t know, so she idly listened to Yvonne attempting to chat up Matt.
‘You write for the papers, don’t you? Rather fun, I should think. I was rather good at English at school. They all said I should take up writing.’
Matt looked at her. ‘It would have been tragic to deprive the modelling world,’ he said drily.
Imogen suppressed a smile.
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Yvonne. ‘Now I just write Jumbo’s speeches.’
‘His speeches?’
‘Didn’t you know?’ She bared her teeth like the wolf in Red Riding Hood. ‘James is prospective candidate for Cockfosters. He’s awfully busy at the moment, but if you ask him nicely, I’m sure he’d spare the time to give you an interview for your paper.’
‘I’ll remember that,’ said Matt.
‘Mind you,’ said Yvonne, ‘I do think the articles you write are rather — well — exaggerated.’
‘In what way?’ said Matt, his eyes narrowing.
‘Well that piece last week on Northern Ireland. I mean I didn’t finish it, and I know all journalists sensationalise things for the sake of circulation. .’
‘Go on,’ said Matt, an ominous note creeping into his voice.
‘Well I do think it’s rather disloyal to write things like that.’
‘Disloyal to whom? Those men had been tortured. One young boy committed suicide rather than take any more.’
‘These things happen,’ said Yvonne. ‘But surely it’s better not to make too much fuss? It only stirs up hatred and makes things difficult for the poor soldiers. To be quite honest, I can’t stand the way you Irish come over here and take our jobs and use our Health service, and then say beastly things about us.’
‘Whenever I come across atrocities I write “beastly things” about them,’ snapped Matt.
‘Now, you mustn’t get uptight,’ said Yvonne reprovingly. ‘I bet you didn’t have any breakfast. Why not have a matchstick?’ she added, producing a polythene bag of cut up carrots from her hold-all. ‘Veggies don’t put on an ounce of weight. Do have one.’
Imogen didn’t stay to hear Matt’s reply.
‘I must get some air,’ she gasped, staggering across the bar. It was better outside. She clung to the rails and the spray lashed her face. Down below, the sea was writhing and foaming. Two minutes later Matt joined her. His face was olive green.
‘God! Cable does pick them,’ he groaned.
‘She thought she was bringing you out.’
‘In a nervous rash most likely.’
‘I’m sure she’s awfully good as a model.’
‘Forces grey in, you mean. The only thing she could sell is packaged nausea.’
‘Are you all right?’ asked Imogen anxiously. The olive green was now tinged with grey.
‘I’ll manage. Be back in a second,’ and he practically hurled himself over the edge of the boat.
‘Oh, poor, poor thing,’ she said, when he came back.
He grinned weakly. ‘There goes yesterday’s dinner and tea. At least I’ve ruined their rotten boat.’
Imogen was amazed at his stoicism, particularly when he added a moment later, ‘You mustn’t let Cable upset you.’
Imogen flushed. ‘I wasn’t! I mean, I like her very much.’
‘She’s only flirting with Nicky to annoy me,’ he said. ‘She does it with any attractive man who comes along.’
‘But whatever for?’
‘She’s trying to pressure me to marry her.’
‘Don’t you want to?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m a Catholic, if somewhat lapsed. I’m supposed to try to marry for good. I can put up with a free range mistress, but not a free range wife.’
‘She’d probably settle down once you married her,’ said Imogen.
‘Perhaps. Oh, my God,’ he muttered, turning green again. ‘Here goes yesterday’s breakfast.’
She had never known anyone could be so seasick. Each time he returned, more white and shaking, to her side. In the middle Cable had the gall to saunter up and put a proprietorial hand over his: ‘We’re going to have some lunch, darling. See you later. Isn’t Yvonne nice?’
‘Adorable,’ said Matt. ‘I’m just wondering how I’m going to kill her.’
At last they sighted Boulogne, hanging in a mist of seagulls, its cranes jabbing the sky. They were now joined by the rest of the party, bumptious from duty-free drink, and clutching their packets of duty-free cigarettes.
‘Hullo,’ said Cable. ‘You do look peaky, darling. Do you like my new scent?’ and she thrust her wrist under Matt’s nose.
The skies were overcast as the boat drew in and it was still raining. A few fat Frenchmen in blue overalls and berets were waiting on the quay. Goodness, they look very English, thought Imogen, and the weather’s just like Yorkshire.
‘Shall I drive?’ asked Nicky as they got back into the car.
Matt shook his head. ‘It’ll take my mind off my stomach.’
‘Imogen looks rather grey. She’d better go in the front,’ said Cable, nipping into the back beside Nicky.
The Mercedes was soon eating up the miles. So this is France, thought Imogen. Great avenues of poplars, cornfields stretching to infinity, incredibly ugly towns with their peeling Dubonnet posters and gaudy gardens like seed packets. There was no one in the streets. Perhaps they were all making fantastic French love behind those closed shutters.
‘The First World War was fought all over here,’ Matt told her. ‘Most of the old houses were razed to the ground. That’s why the villages are so new and hideous. Have you read Goodbye to All That?’
Imogen shook her head.
‘Marvellous book. I’ve got a copy in my case. I’ll lend it to you.’
‘I couldn’t get beyond the first page,’ said Cable.
‘Too many long words for you,’ said Matt, ‘and no pictures.’
‘Oh, don’t be so effing superior,’ snapped Cable.
‘There are still plenty of unexploded bombs in the fields,’ said Matt, ignoring her.
And plenty inside the car too, thought Imogen. Nicky and Cable chattered away, the names dropping like autumn leaves. But finally even they fell quiet. Glancing round, Imogen saw that Cable was asleep, her head on Nicky’s shoulder. She looked away quickly, trying desperately not to mind. If Matt saw anything through the driving mirror he took no notice.
The rain had stopped and a few stars were trying to peer through the veil of cloud as they reached their hotel. It stood on the edge of a river, festooned with bright pink geraniums and creepers trailing down into the water. The attractive mademoiselle behind the desk seemed delighted to see Matt again. But she looked aghast when James and Yvonne came through the door. There was much hand-waving and shoulder-shrugging, and Matt came over looking rueful.
‘Sorry, loves, my crazy secretary’s only booked two double rooms instead of three.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Cable. ‘We’re all whacked. Yvonne and Imogen and I can shack down in one double bed. You three can have the other.’
Matt looked relieved. ‘If that’s all right with everyone else?’
Imogen nodded. Another day’s reprieve — she wasn’t up to a sexual marathon with Nicky tonight.
‘Rather a lark,’ said James Edgworth. ‘Just like the dorm at school.’
Yvonne’s face, however, was working like milk coming up to the boil.