‘Beautiful!’ he said appreciatively, giving a chef’s flourish with his hand.
Before Francine could say anything, he turned on his heel and swept off, his coat flapping behind him. She trailed him with her eyes in the hope that he would look at her again, but he didn’t.
‘Did you see that?’ she said triumphantly.
To her annoyance, Julie laughed.
‘Oh, that’s just Fritz, one of the artists, don’t mind him. He’s always doing that to people. He’ll probably say he wants to paint you next. He asked me to model for him once.’
‘Did you do it?’ She tried to hide her disappointment by looking nonchalantly around the room.
‘Of course not — he’d have wanted me to take my clothes off, wouldn’t he! Lara on reception says it’s just his chat-up line.’ She looked around too, her face haughty with experience. ‘I’m not that stupid.’
Francine wondered if Julie was lying. She wasn’t even that pretty. Fritz had probably gone off the idea, or maybe he hadn’t even asked her at all. Also, she was so superior, acting as if her job was so wonderful and glamorous, when it was clear to Francine that everyone looked down on her. It was glamorous, though, being here: she had entered her own day-dream and the fervent scene of her desire was all around her. The room was filled with the kind of faces she had looked at as if through shop windows, lovely, unaffordable things, the invisible throng of their luxurious, unimaginable lives springing up behind them. They glittered in their nocturnal majesty, a human zodiac cavorting across the heavens of fashion, far above the obstructed hives of office blocks, the blackened scuttling pavements, the swarming underground tunnels of the city they secretly commanded. It was everything she had hoped it would be — the proof that the things she wanted did exist! — and it only remained now for her to conquer the scene, to subdue its magic and train it with her own hand. Her envy of Julie distilled into a more palatable pity. She, after all, wore the public mark of her inferiority here, while Francine’s mysteries remained intact.
‘I love it here,’ Julie said now, sighing. ‘I could never go back to corporate. It’s so uncreative.’
Francine wished that she could go off on her own, but then the girl called Lara that Julie had been talking about came up and started talking to them. She was quite pretty, Francine thought, but too fat. She had brushed her hair around her face to try and make it look thinner, but it was still obvious.
‘I’ve just met these two hilarious blokes,’ she said to Julie. She was shouting, even though the music wasn’t very loud. A mask of perspiration coated her features with cellophane. ‘They’re a right pair of jokers.’ She shook her head deliriously, as though their double antics had exhausted her. ‘We had a right laugh. Do you want to come and meet them?’
‘Why not?’ said Julie, glancing sideways to give Francine a supercilious look.
Francine followed them across the room, dropping slightly back in case her evident separateness should tempt anyone to ensnare her. She felt a new sway in her body, as if the party’s elegance were an element she had imbibed. Several people looked at her as she passed, and where their eloquent, penetrating eyes touched her she felt the tangible thrill of happiness. Lara and Julie plunged through a dense thicket of bodies and she stepped lightly along the path they beat until she sensed them stop ahead of her. For a moment she disengaged herself, luxuriating in the tropical heat of the room and the promiscuity of its possibilities, but then a hand thrust itself towards her in greeting.
‘And who is this?’ said a well-spoken male voice.
‘Oh, that’s Francine.’
Julie’s voice appeared to come from a distance, her accent even more grating than usual in its pronouncement of the name. Francine felt her hand shaken in a disembodied, humid grip, but only after the bulk of Lara’s back had shifted to one side did she see who held it.
‘Stephen Sparks,’ he said, reeling himself towards her along their joined arms and presenting himself. His face was flushed and handsome, and his hair stood damply away from his forehead. Their clasped hands made Francine feel suddenly as if they were linked in some intimate exertion and she permitted herself a pleasurable aloofness.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said coolly.
‘And I you.’ He bowed comically, as if he were making fun of her, but his eyes reassured her that he was merely trying to entertain and she laughed. ‘Very pleased.’
Another figure emerged from the crush and loomed at his side expectantly, as if to take part in the conversation. Stephen seemed unaware of him. Francine glanced at his face, but it appeared to be in shadow and she couldn’t make it out. Stephen saw her eyes stray and he started round.
‘Ah, Ralph!’ he said, as if he were surprised. He ushered Ralph into the circle with his arm and smiled conspiratorially at Francine. ‘I imagine you’ve come to pay court to Francine. We must all pay our homage to Queen Francine.’
‘Hello,’ said Ralph stiffly. He didn’t put out his hand. Taking her cue from Stephen’s dismissiveness, Francine didn’t reply to his greeting. He lingered silently for a moment, watching her. ‘It’s an unusual name,’ he said finally. His expression was pained, as if he had strained something.
Julie suddenly wriggled out from behind him and joined the group.
‘Lara’s been sick all down her front,’ she announced. ‘I had to take her to the toilet.’
‘Is she all right?’ said Ralph, ungluing his eyes from Francine.
‘Charmant,’ muttered Stephen, looking at her as if to re-establish their intimacy. She smiled her acknowledgement of it, a feeling of excitement tight in her chest. ‘What do you do, Francine?’ he said wonderingly, taking her in. ‘Let me guess—’
‘She’s a secretary,’ interjected Julie. ‘Like me.’
‘Really? Ralph’s a secretary too,’ said Stephen, winking at Francine to show that he was joking.
‘Thanks,’ mumbled Ralph.
‘Really?’ said Julie. ‘I didn’t know men were.’
‘Are you an artist?’ said Francine, keen to change the subject. Ralph and Julie were now mired in conversation. It was really quite clever how Stephen had palmed them off. He laughed hilariously at her question, and she felt the mild disturbance of uncertainty while the taste of its sophistication was still on her tongue.
‘Of piss, perhaps,’ he said.
‘Oh, right,’ she said, not understanding him.
‘Only joking. I’m a journalist.’
He said something else, but Francine was distracted by the enthralling mention of her own name beside her, in remarks the noise prevented her from construing. She could feel Ralph looking at her, and she modified the plan she had formulated for cooling off relations with Julie into a more direct resolve to telephone her the next day to find out what he had said. It was altogether a better idea, and should Fritz ever decide he wanted to paint her Julie would have no reason not to give him her number.
‘How much do secretaries charge for their services these days?’ Stephen was saying. He was laughing again, but his eyes held her through the disruption of his face and she was sure now that he liked her. The thought excited her. He seemed very aristocratic. ‘I’d say you’re at the top end of the market. Can I afford it?’
‘Oh, it’s only temporary,’ she said, embarrassed that he had returned to the subject. ‘Just until I find something more’ — she searched for a word — ‘creative.’