‘Put that thing away,’ squealed Yvonne, furiously tearing off her nose.
‘Well, stop brain-washing Tracey then. Not that there’s a lot of brain to wash.’
‘Hullo Larry,’ said Nicky, returning with James, a trayful of drinks and a cornet with two strawberry spheres of ice cream spilling out of the top. ‘How did you get on?’
‘Fantastic,’ said Larry, seizing Cable’s vodka and tonic and draining half of it in one gulp. ‘What a pad they’ve got up there! It’s a tragedy we couldn’t use colour.’
‘How was the Duchess?’ said James.
‘Sensational! Christ, what a beautiful woman. I’ve just been to Marseilles airport and put four rolls of film on a plane to London.’
‘Where’s Matt?’ said Cable.
‘Still up there, getting on like a château on fire. Braganzi’s being amazingly free and frank.’
‘He can afford to be if he’s going to see copy,’ snapped Cable. ‘You might leave me some of my drink, Gilmore.’
‘Oh, sorry, darling,’ said Larry, finishing it. ‘I’ll get us both another one in a minute.’
‘Ugh,’ said Yvonne. ‘You’re dripping ice cream all over me. Who’s it for?’
‘Tracey,’ said Nicky, handing it to her. ‘Somehow its structure reminded me of her.’
‘Do you mind?’ giggled Tracey. ‘Ta awfully, Nicky.’
‘I’m going to swim,’ said Cable, tucking her black hair into a yellow turban. ‘Are you coming, Nicky?’
For a minute they glared at each other, then he laughed and said all right, and, putting an arm round her shoulders, walked down to the beach with her.
‘I’m going too,’ said Yvonne, still obviously put out by Larry’s presence.
Larry took off his shirt and trousers. Underneath he was wearing black bathing trunks. He had a muscular well-shaped body, already very brown. The Man-Tan, as Tracey had pointed out, had striped his legs. He laughed when he caught Imogen staring at him.
‘It’s terribly difficult to put on over hairy legs,’ he said, sitting down beside her. ‘It’s a great story you got Matt, you know, and you certainly made a hit with Braganzi and the Duchess. They’ve been singing your praises all morning. Weren’t your ears burning?’
‘No, but my boobs are,’ interrupted Tracey, rolling over on her front and picking up Imogen’s book.
Larry looked out to sea at Cable and Nicky who had reached the raft, clambered on to it and were plainly having some kind of argument.
‘Cable’s being poisonous to that nice tennis player,’ he said in his slow voice. ‘He must be her latest.’
‘Oh, they’ve been flirting a bit,’ said James. ‘Jolly pretty girl, but a bit of a handful. Suppose I’m one of the lucky ones,’ he said, blowing bubbles into his drink with a straw. ‘Old Yvonne’s never really looked at another man.’
‘I’m one of the lucky ones too,’ drawled Gilmore. ‘Another man’s never looked at old Bambi.’
That’s not right, thought Imogen quickly; both Matt and Cable said she was very attractive.
Larry drained Cable’s drink. ‘Who’s for a refill?’ he said. ‘What are you having, James?’
‘Vodka and pineapple,’ said James. ‘I’m getting quite addicted to it. But for God’s sake don’t tell Yvonne.’
‘And what about you, Tracey?’
‘I’m all right for a bit,’ said Tracey, licking her ice cream, and still engrossed in Imogen’s Scott Fitzgerald. She glanced at the jacket. ‘She writes rather well, this Bodley Head. Has she written lots of other books?’
‘I’m starving,’ said Nicky as the beach emptied for lunch. ‘Let’s find a nice cool restaurant and have something to eat.’
‘And something to drink,’ said Larry.
On the way they called in the hotel, where Cable found a note for Matt.
‘Hooray,’ she said, opening it. ‘It’s from the Blaker-Harrises. There’s a big party on tonight. We’re all invited.’
‘Will it be smart?’ said Yvonne.
‘Pretty,’ said Cable. ‘Lots of Jet Set.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Larry. ‘I’m getting quite pixillated by high life. The Duchess this morning, the Blaker-Harrises tonight. I must go down to the Sieffs again.’
‘What does everyone want to eat?’ said James, as they sat down in a little restaurant hung with fishing nets and overlooking the sea. ‘Hands up for Salade Niçoise.’
‘I’d like an advocado pear,’ said Tracey.
‘I’d like an enormous vodka,’ said Larry.
He’s deliberately setting out to get drunk again, thought Imogen. A waiter shot past them bearing a plate of pink langoustines to a corner table, and she suddenly felt a stab of misery, remembering last time she’d eaten them with Matt in St Tropez. She wondered for the hundredth time how he was getting on.
They’d reached the coffee stage by the time he arrived. Cable and Yvonne were discussing what to wear that evening, Nicky was making discreet eyes at Tracey and talking to James about Forest Hills at the same time, Larry was ordering another bottle, when she saw him standing in the doorway watching them.
I can’t help it, she thought in misery, every time I see him, I want to bound forward like a dog and wag my tail and jump all over him.
‘Matt,’ shouted Larry, ‘bon journ main sewer. Qu-est-que ce going on up at Château Braganzi?’
Matt pulled up a chair and sat down between him and Cable.
‘Jesus, what a story,’ he said. ‘It’s so hot it frightens me.’
‘Well, have a drink, and then it won’t any more,’ said Larry.
Matt shook his head. ‘I’d better stay sober. Going to need all the wits I’ve got. I’ll have some coffee. Are you all right, darling?’ he said to Cable, then not giving her time to answer, turned to Imogen. ‘They both sent their love. They gave me a present for you, but I left it behind. I’ll bring it back when I go up this evening and show them the copy — if I ever get it together, that is.’
‘You’d better get it written this afternoon,’ said Cable. ‘The Blaker-Harrises are giving a party tonight.’
‘Well, they’ll manage without me,’ said Matt.
‘That’s ridiculous,’ snapped Cable. ‘It can’t take you that long. You’re not writing a novel.’
‘Bloody nearly. I’ve just talked to the paper. They’re going to hold the review front for it. You can’t churn that out in a couple of hours.’
‘There’ll be a lot of talent at the Blaker-Harrises,’ said Cable tauntingly. ‘Rod Stewart’s going to be there.’
‘Well, you won’t need me either.’ As soon as he finished the cup of coffee he got to his feet. ‘I’d better get started. Did you find me a typewriter?’
‘No,’ said Cable.
‘Christ,’ said Matt.
‘I did try, but I had a lot of things to do this morning,’ she added defensively.
‘I’ve no doubt one of them was human.’
‘What d’you mean?’ said Cable, momentarily nonplussed.
‘You should tidy up after your gentlemen friends. One of them left this on the bed this morning,’ said Matt, and there was a slither of gold as he dropped Nicky’s medallion on to Cable’s lap.
There was an awful pause, then Cable said, ‘Oh, that’s Nicky’s. The hot tap wasn’t working in his room, so he used our shower. Perhaps you’d have a word with Madame, seeing she’s a friend of yours.’
Matt looked at Nicky reflectively for a minute and then he laughed. ‘I would have thought a few cold showers would have done you all the good in the world, Nicky boy,’ and he was gone.
There was another long pause.
‘I’m going to the hairdresser this afternoon,’ said Yvonne.