Sammy was already leering at a handsome blond German in a blue suit.
‘I’d just love a sweet Cinzano,’ she said fluttering long green eyelashes at him.
The German fought his way to the bar to get her one. The next moment a pallid youth had sidled up to her.
‘I work in films,’ he said, which he patently didn’t.
‘Really,’ said Sammy. ‘I’m a model actually.’
Harriet had completely forgotten the hassle of hunting for men. She kept trying to meet men’s eyes, but hers kept slithering away. Don’t leave me, she pleaded silently to Sammy. But Sammy was on the hunt like Sevenoaks after a bitch, and nothing could deter her from her quarry.
‘It’s always been my ambition to go to Bayreuth,’ she was saying to the handsome German.
The worst part of the evening for Harriet was that she wasn’t a free agent. She couldn’t split because Sammy was driving and she hadn’t brought enough money for a taxi.
Sammy having downed eight sweet Cinzanos was well away with the German, and seemed to be having an equally devastating effect on his friend, who had spectacles, a nudging grin and a pot belly.
‘Come over here, Harriet,’ said Sammy. ‘You must meet Claus.’
She pushed the fat, nudging grinning German forward.
‘Harriet’s frightfully clever and amusing,’ she added.
Harriet became completely paralysed and could think of nothing to say except that the weather had been very cold lately.
‘Ah but the freezing North brings forth the most lovely ladies,’ said the fat little German with heavy gallantry. He was in Yorkshire, he told Harriet, for a textile conference and had lost 10 kilos since Christmas. Harriet didn’t know if that were good or bad.
‘Isn’t he a scream?’ said Sammy.
She pulled Harriet aside.
‘They want to take us to The Black Tulip,’ she said. ‘It’s a fantastic place; you have dinner and dance, and there’s a terrific group playing.’
‘It’s going to make us frightfully late, isn’t it?’ said Harriet dubiously.
‘Oh come on,’ said Sammy, drink beginning to make her punchy. ‘No-one’s ever taken me to a place like that before. It’s the chance of a lifetime.’
Oh God, thought Harriet, I mustn’t be a spoilsport.
The Black Tulip was even worse than the Loose Box. Harriet found her smile getting stiffer and stiffer as she toyed with an avocado pear.
‘First I cut out all carbohydrates,’ said the little fat German.
Opposite them Sammy and the handsome German couldn’t keep their hands off each other. They were both getting tighter and tighter. Harriet wondered who the hell was going to drive her home.
‘Then I gave up bread and potatoes,’ said the fat German.
He must have been huge before he lost all that weight, thought Harriet, as she rode round the dance floor on his stomach. She suddenly longed to be home with Cory and William and the children. What would happen if William woke up? Mrs Bottomley slept like the dead. Cory’d go spare if he had to get up and feed him. She wondered how long he’d taken to get rid of Woman’s Monthly.
‘A new penny for your thoughts, Samantha,’ said the handsome German.
‘They’re worth a bloody sight more than that,’ said Sammy.
They all laughed immoderately.
‘I also cut out all puddings and cakes,’ said the fat German.
‘I get no kick from champagne,’ sang the lead singer. ‘Pure alcohol gives me no thrill at all.’
You can say that again, thought Harriet.
Sammy was leaning forward, the fat little German gazing hungrily at her bosom.
‘Shall we go for a drive on the moor?’ he said.
‘No,’ said Harriet, violently. ‘You all can,’ she added. ‘But could you drop me off first?’
‘We’re all going back to Heinrich’s hotel for a little drink,’ said Sammy, getting rather unsteadily to her feet.
‘I must get back in case William wakes,’ said Harriet desperately.
After some argument, Sammy relented. ‘We’ll get you a cab,’ she said. ‘Claus can pay. The only one going at this hour is driven by the local undertaker.’
Harriet felt as cheerful as a corpse, as she bowled home under a starless sky. She couldn’t stop crying; she had no sex appeal any more, the world was coming to an end, she’d never find a father for William.
As she put the key at the door, Sevenoaks, who usually slept through everything, let out a series of deep baritone barks, then, realizing it was her, started to sing with delight at the top of his voice, searching round for something to bring her.
‘Oh please, Sevenoaks, lower your voice,’ she pleaded.
But as she crept upstairs, Cory came out of the bathroom with a towel round his waist, his black hair wet from the bath, his skin still yellow-brown from last summer.
‘Did Woman’s Monthly stay for hours?’ she said.
‘Hours,’ said Cory, ‘I had to throw them out. It must have been pre-menstrual tension I was suffering from before they arrived.’
Harriet was feeling too depressed to even giggle.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said.
Sevenoaks sauntered into Cory’s room and heaved himself up onto Cory’s bed.
‘Get him off,’ snapped Cory. ‘That dog’s got to go. He’s been whining ever since you went out. Where have you been anyway?’ he said in a gentler tone, noticing her red-rimmed eyes.
‘To the Loose Box, with Sammy. We met some Germans, one was quite good-looking, the other one was awful. The good-looking one fancied Sammy, so did the awful one, but he had to put up with me. I tried to get out and find some people of my own age, but I don’t think they liked me very much.’ And with a sob she fled to her room.
When she turned down the counterpane and got into bed, she found her electric blanket switched on, and a note pinned to the pillow.
‘Dear Harriet,’ it said.
‘Doesn’t matter what He says, we think you’re smashing, and so does he really, love from Tadpole, Ambrose (Miss) and Sevenoaks.’
Harriet gave a gurgle of laughter. Suddenly the whole evening didn’t seem to matter very much any more. She lay in bed and thought about Cory. She felt like a child joining up numbers to discover what a picture was; she felt she hadn’t managed to join up any of Cory’s numbers at all.
Chapter Fifteen
Harriet was ironing in the kitchen when a car drew up.
‘Come on, let’s hide,’ whispered Chattie. ‘It’s awful old Arabella. She only turns up when Daddy’s at home.’
‘We can’t,’ protested Harriet, watching a tall girl get out of the car. ‘She’s seen us.’
‘Anyone at home?’ came a debutante quack from the hall.
The girl who strode into the kitchen was in her late twenties, very handsome, high complexioned, athletically built, with flicked-up light brown hair drawn back from her forehead.
‘Hullo, Chattie,’ she said breezily. ‘How are you?’ But before Chattie could answer she turned to Harriet. ‘And you must be the new nanny. I’m Arabella Ryder-Ross. Cory’s spoken about me, I expect.’ But before Harriet could answer the girl turned to William, who was aimlessly beating the side of his chair with a wooden spoon.
‘What a darling baba. Not another of Noel’s castoffs?’
‘No, he’s mine,’ said Harriet.
‘Oh?’ said Arabella. It was strange how someone could get four syllables out of that word.