Imogen turned around and went out to a nearby café and bought six cans of iced beer and a couple of large sandwiches made of French bread and garlic sausage. She could see Cable safely squawking in the telephone box as she went through reception, so she went upstairs and knocked timidly on Matt’s door.
There was no answer.
She knocked again.
‘Come in,’ shouted a voice. ‘What the bloody hell do you want this time?’
Inside she found him sitting on a chair that was too small, bashing away at a typewriter on a tiny table that shuddered and trembled under the pressure. His blue denim shirt was drenched with sweat; he looked like a giant trying to ride a Shetland pony. His shoulders were rigid with tension and exasperation; there were scrumpled-up bits of paper all over the floor.
‘Can’t you leave me alone for five minutes?’ he said through gritted teeth. Then he looked round, blinked and realised it was her.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said.
‘I thought you might need something to eat — and drink — not now but later,’ she said nervously. ‘You didn’t have any lunch. You ought to eat.’
He looked slightly less bootfaced. ‘That was very kind of you, sweetheart.’
‘Is it going any better?’
‘Nope.’ He pushed his damp hair back from his forehead. ‘It’s going backwards. I’ve got a total brainfreeze. I can’t think how to do it. It’ll break soon, it’s got to. I’ve got to show it to Braganzi before midnight. The bugger is him having to see it; it’s like having to adapt de Sade for the parish mag.’
His eyes were just hollows in his suntanned face. He flexed his aching back. Suddenly he looked so tired and lost and defeated, she wanted to cradle his head against her and stroke all the tension out of him.
‘I wouldn’t bother about what they’re going to think,’ she said. ‘I’m sure if you get across how much they adore each other, and what a sacrifice they had to make, and how the relationship does work, and how he’s not just a cheap hood, they won’t mind what else you say. They’re just panicking that someone might write something that might prejudice her chances of seeing the children again. . but you know all that anyway. I used to get panicky about essays in exams,’ she said, tumbling over her words in her shyness.
Matt reached over and opened one of the cans of beer. ‘Go on,’ he said.
‘So I used to pretend I wasn’t doing an essay at all, just writing a letter about the subject home to Juliet, trying to make it as amusing for her as possible.’
Matt grinned for the first time. ‘You think I should pretend I’m writing to Basil?’
Imogen giggled. ‘Well, maybe something of the sort.’
‘Are you going to the Blaker-Harrises?’ he said.
She nodded.
‘Well, for God’s sake wear a chastity belt and a bullet-proof vest. It’s bound to turn into an orgy.’
He turned back to his typewriter, dismissing her, but as she went out on to the landing, he thanked her once again.
She was just starting to wash her hair when Larry knocked on the door.
‘I’m going back to the hotel to have a bath and change,’ he said. ‘Tracey and I’ll come and pick you up about half eight. We don’t want to miss valuable drinking time.’
‘What shall I wear?’ she asked.
Gilmore went over to her wardrobe. ‘The pink trousers and that pale pink top,’ he said. ‘It’ll look stunning now you’re brown.’
‘Will it be smart enough?’ she asked, doubtfully.
‘Perfect. I want you to downstage the others. And remember no bra.’
What was the point of dressing up for a ball, she thought listlessly, when there was no chance of Prince Charming showing up?
Chapter Fifteen
‘Hey, you look good enough to — ah — well good enough for anything,’ said Larry when he collected her. ‘You certainly do things for that sweater.’
‘You like it?’
‘Yes, and what’s inside it even better.’
‘Isn’t it a bit tight?’ said Imogen doubtfully. ‘And are you sure trousers will be all right?’
‘Perfect. Why wear expensive gear to go to a rugger scrum?’
He was wearing a pale grey suit and a black shirt, which matched his black and silver hair.
‘You look lovely too,’ she said.
As they went downstairs they could hear the relentless pounding of Matt’s typewriter.
‘That’s a relief,’ said Gilmore. ‘Sounds as though he’s getting it together at last.’
It was a stifling hot night. Tracey, James and Nicky, all in high spirits, were having a drink in the bar. Tracey was wearing a black dress, plunging at the front, slit up to her red pants at the back. Madame had presented James with one of her purple asters for his button hole.
‘I’ve never been to a jet set party,’ he was saying. ‘I do hope Bianca Jagger’s there.’
‘Who are the Blaker-Harrises anyway?’ asked Nicky.
‘He made a fortune in dog food,’ said Larry. ‘I gather they’re staying with some rich frogs called Ducharmé who are giving the party. Are Cable and Yvonne anything like ready, do you suppose? I’d much rather drink at Monsieur Ducharmé’s expense than my own.’
‘Well, I’m ready,’ said a gay voice, and Yvonne arrived in a swirl of apple green, with green sandals, and a green ribbon in her red curls.
‘You look lovely, my darling,’ said James dutifully.
‘Like crème de menthe frappé,’ said Larry under his breath.
‘I thought you said it’d be all right to wear trousers,’ muttered Imogen.
‘And the most wonderful news,’ went on Yvonne. ‘My agent’s just rung back and said I’m short-listed for Jane Bennet in the new BBC Pride and Prejudice.’
Everyone gave rather forced exclamations of enthusiasm, and James kissed her, but very gingerly, so as not to disarrange her hair.
‘When will you know?’ said Nicky.
‘In a day or two,’ said Yvonne. ‘They’re starting shooting in three weeks. Isn’t it exciting?’ Suddenly her beady eyes fell on Imogen. ‘Oughtn’t you to go and change? We’re going to be terribly late.’
‘She’s already changed,’ said Larry. ‘Aren’t you rather miscast as Jane, Yvonne dear? She was supposed to be such a nice sweet natured girl.’
Yvonne was saved the trouble of thinking up a really crushing reply by the arrival of Cable, looking sensational in a dress entirely made of peacock feathers. It was sleeveless and clung lightly to her figure, stopping just above the knee. Two peacock feathers nestling in her snaking ebony hair and bands of peacock blue shadow painted on her eyelids made her eyes look brilliant flashing turquoise rather than green.
Nicky whistled. James gasped. Yvonne merely glared and shut her lips tighter.
‘That’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen,’ said Tracey.
‘I’m going to change,’ muttered Imogen.
‘Haven’t got time,’ said Larry, seizing her wrist. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t borrowed Yvonne’s cardboard beak to complete the picture, Cable darling.’
The sun was falling into the sea as the taxi turned off the coast road.
‘I’m glad it’s getting dark,’ said Tracey, adding another layer of mascara to her false eyelashes. ‘Party make-up looks so much better at night.’
In James’s spotlessly clean, pale-blue car in front Imogen could see Cable, who’d commandeered the entire back seat to herself so her feathers shouldn’t be ruffled, and Yvonne getting out combs and beginning to tease their hair with the pointed ends. She wished Matt were there to look after her. She was sure as soon as they got to the party, Larry would get drunk and disappear. Nicky already had his arm along the back of the seat and was surreptitiously caressing the back of Tracey’s neck, so she couldn’t expect much support from him either.