‘She actually likes staying home and being a mother and baking bread and polishing furniture,’ said Cable.
‘How nice,’ said Yvonne. ‘How old is she?’
‘About forty.’
‘I love older women,’ said James, taking a hefty belt at his pineapple juice and looking very excited.
‘She’s happily married, Jumbo,’ snapped Yvonne.
‘I don’t think Gilmore’s ever strayed either,’ said Matt.
Cable smirked as though she knew better.
‘Oh, he may have pinched your bottom at the odd press party,’ admitted Matt, ‘but it’s all show.’
‘I must say it will be nice to have another wife to talk to. Once one gets married one does find single girls rather limited,’ said Yvonne, getting to her feet. ‘I must just pop over to the newsagents and get some more postcards. I haven’t sent one to your mother yet, Jumbo.’
‘Bitch,’ said Cable, sticking her tongue out at Yvonne’s trim departing back.
‘What did you ask them to put in these pineapple juices, Nicky?’ said James.
‘Vodka,’ said Nicky. ‘I thought it was the least obvious. Probably disgusting.’
‘At least it’s alcohol,’ said James. ‘Thanks awfully. Let me get another round quickly while the old girl’s buying postcards.’
‘You’re very quiet, Imogen,’ said Cable. ‘Are you all right?’
‘The heat’s probably been too much for her,’ said Nicky. ‘We should have taken better care of you, and not left you alone.’
They were all looking at her now. Imogen thought her face would crack with trying to smile.
‘I think I’ll go and change,’ she said.
Upstairs she listlessly flipped through her wardrobe. In the end she put on the green dress with the white daisies, though it seemed far too frivolous for her mood of black gloom. The low-cut neck showed her shoulders and breasts, beautifully tanned now. During a day of such traumas it seemed odd that she should have turned so brown. Her hair, despite Yvonne’s acid comments, fell into perfect shape when she combed it. She fiddled around a long time getting ready. She didn’t want to go down; she couldn’t bear to face the faces. A knock on the door made her jump. Matt, she thought with longing. But it was Cable.
‘Hullo, that’s nice,’ she said, not looking Imogen in the eyes. ‘Did Matt get it for you yesterday?’
Imogen nodded.
‘He really ought to be on the women’s page. We were worried about you, you took so long.’
You can talk, thought Imogen.
‘I’m so pleased Larry and Bambi are arriving tonight,’ said Cable as they went downstairs. ‘Bambi’ll be such a relief after Yvonne. She’s sliding into middle age in such a happy leisurely sort of way. Makes one think getting old might not be so desperate after all. You’ll love her.’
Bambi was obviously no competition, thought Imogen. From Cable’s Mona Lisa smirkings earlier, Larry Gilmore was obviously an old flame of hers. With Nicky as a current admirer, James ever ready to pounce and Matt in attendance, no wonder she was in such a good temper.
When they got to the table, James wolf-whistled at Imogen and Nicky told her she was looking beautiful. Imogen went and sat next to him, as far away from Matt as possible. I’ve got dinner to get through, and then I’m going straight to bed, she thought. A girl a few tables down was petting a panting golden retriever. It reminded her of Homer. Suddenly she felt so homesick she could hardly see straight. She mustn’t cry. She stared down at her clenched fists, fighting back the tears.
‘The Blaker-Harrises are supposed to be arriving at St Syriac tonight,’ said Cable. ‘We must call them tomorrow.’
Conversation fortunately moved on to the rocky state of the Blaker-Harrises’ marriage, and Imogen was able to recover herself. Glancing up, she saw Matt was watching her. She flushed and looked quickly away. I’m an embarrassment to him now, she thought miserably.
Then, to her relief, Cable said, ‘Look, there’s Gilmore.’
‘Over here,’ yelled Matt, waving his arms at a very suntanned man of medium height with a thin hawk-like face. He was wearing a beautifully cut cream boiler suit, slashed to the waist and tucked into black boots. He was screwing his eyes up and looking round.
‘He can’t see a thing without his glasses,’ said Cable. ‘Christ, what has he done to himself?’
The suntanned man finally located them and, stopping to gawp at a sensational brunette as he crossed the road, nearly got run over by a couple of stunning blondes in a pink convertible.
‘What a lovely way to go,’ he drawled. ‘Hullo, everyone.’ He clapped Matt on the shoulder, kissed Cable and collapsed into a chair. ‘Jesus, I need some first aid. Order me a quadruple whisky.’ No one moved.
‘What have you done to yourself?’ asked Matt.
‘You’ve changed your hair,’ said Cable.
‘It’s the Mark Antony look.’ Gilmore pulled the black tendrils over his forehead.
‘And you’ve been at the Grecian 2000. You’re as brown as a berry.’
‘It’s been a very good summer in Islington,’ said Gilmore, and roared with laughter.
‘You’ve had your ear pierced. And where did you get that white suit from?’
‘I decided my image was getting a bit dreary, I ought to jazz myself up a little.’
‘A little,’ said Cable. ‘Christ Almighty, Gilmore!’
Matt started to laugh.
‘Oh, shut up,’ said Gilmore. ‘It jolly well works anyway. How are you, Nicky? You look disgustingly healthy.’
‘No more than you,’ said Nicky, and introduced Imogen and James.
Matt ordered Gilmore a drink and another round for the rest of them.
‘Any luck with Braganzi?’ said Gilmore.
Matt shook his head. ‘Not a squeak. I’ve tried everything; and he machine-guns doorsteppers.’
‘Well, if you can’t get in there no one can,’ said Gilmore.
‘They were bloody good, those beauty queen pictures of yours,’ said Matt.
‘Took a hell of a lot of re-touching, both beauty queens and pix.’
‘How’s the paper?’ asked Matt.
‘Much the same when I left it.’ Gilmore drained half his whisky in one gulp. ‘Bruce Winter gave in his notice again; wrote a 17-page letter of resignation which no one could be bothered to read. So he’s staying on after all. Our man in Jerusalem was wounded in the foot in a riot. H.E. sent his love. All he can think about at the moment is the All-Woman Everest Expedition.’
‘Are we going to sponsor it?’
‘Not if the finance boys have their way.’
‘I picked up a good story this afternoon,’ said Matt. ‘All the kids have been cheating in their Baccalaureate. Some child got hold of the papers in advance and gave the answers to all and sundry. The authorities are completely flummoxed. They can’t fail the whole lot of them.’
‘Wish that would happen in London,’ sighed Gilmore. ‘It’s the only way my children would ever get their A levels. Are you going to file any copy?’
‘I might,’ said Matt, ‘if I can summon up the energy.’
‘There’s trouble blowing up in Peru,’ said Gilmore. ‘If it gets any worse H.E. did say you might have to cut short your lotus-eating and fly out there.’
‘What sort of trouble?’ said Matt.
He’s happy, thought Imogen wistfully. He must have been bored out of his mind this week with the rest of us.
It was Cable who broke them up.
‘Must you two talk shop all day? Where’s Bambi? In the bath?’
‘Er, no,’ said Gilmore, wincing as he gingerly turned the ring in his ear. ‘God, these things hurt! She’s in Islington.’