‘Darling, if we’re going to Gareth’s, it’s gone ten o’clock.’
He was all contrition. ‘Sweetheart, I am sorry. When I get on my hobby horse, it’s like crossing a motorway in the rush-hour, trying to stop me.’ He took her hand. ‘It’s so rare meeting someone who actually understands what I’m trying to say.’
‘Unlike me,’ said Gussie, without rancour. ‘Let’s quickly do the washing-up.’
‘Absolutely not,’ I said firmly. I wasn’t going to have her finding Luigi’s take-away carrier bags in the kitchen.
‘Oh, well, if you insist. Can I go to the loo?’
Jeremy and I went into the drawing-room.
‘There you are,’ I said, pointing to his books on one of the bottom shelves. I’d taken the jackets off and dirtied them up a bit.
He looked at me for a second. ‘You’re very unexpected, you know.’
‘I am?’
‘Yeah. When we met last week I thought you were one of those impossibly beautiful girls, incapable of doing anything but look glamorous. Now I find you know how to make a flat look wonderful, you cook like an angel, and you seem to know more about books than any woman I’ve ever met!’
‘I aim to please,’ I said. ‘Have you got a cigarette?’
‘Of course.’ He lit one for me.
‘Gussie seems determined to get me off with this Gareth man.’
‘Gussie’s a romantic; she longs for everyone to be as happy as she is. I’m sure you’ll like him. Most women do.’
‘I’m choosy,’ I said carefully. ‘I prefer to do my own hunting.’
For the first time we really looked at each other, slowly, lingeringly, exploring each other’s faces, unable to tear our eyes away.
‘Stop it,’ he said, but quite gently. ‘Gussie’ll be back in a minute.’
The hot June night blazed with stars. We drove through London with the roof down and the wireless blaring, in wild spirits. We were all a bit tight. As it was only a two-seater I had insisted on sitting in the luggage compartment on the right side so I could catch Jeremy’s eye in the driving mirror. When we swung round corners I let my fingers rest lightly on his shoulder.
Suddenly I felt a pang. Perhaps it was a bit much trying to nick him from Gussie. Then I saw Gussie put her hand on his thigh, not in a very sexy way, just in a friendly gesture of togetherness, and I was shot through with jealousy. The pang disappeared. Any girl who let herself get as fat as Gussie deserved to lose a man like Jeremy anyway.
I managed to show as much leg as possible as I got out of the car. In the row of large white, elegant Kensington houses, Gareth Llewellyn’s stood out like a sore thumb. It was painted violet, with a brilliant scarlet door. How ostentatious can you get, I thought.
Unexpectedly, the door was answered by a girl with long red hair, eyes the colour of greengages and endless legs.
‘Mr West,’ she said, giving Jeremy a pussy-cat smile. ‘Come in. Mr Llewellyn is upstairs; perhaps you’d follow me.’
On the third floor, standing in the doorway, stood a tall, thickset man, smoking a cigar. Jeremy collapsed into his arms, clutching at his shirt and gasping out some story about having become separated from the main party with which he had scaled all but the final peak. ‘Brandy,’ he croaked and, staggering past the man with the cigar, collapsed onto a pile of cushions. Gussie shrieked with laughter.
‘I think he’s a bit tight. Hullo Gareth darling,’ she said, kissing him. ‘This is Octavia Brennen. Isn’t she a knockout?’
‘How do you do?’ I said, putting on my society voice because I was embarrassed.
‘Very well, thank you,’ he mimicked me, looking me over very slowly, like a judge examining a show hack.
He turned and smiled at Gussie. ‘She’s beautiful, Gus. For once you haven’t exaggerated.’
‘Are you sure you two haven’t met before?’ said Gussie. ‘I should have thought you would have, being jet-setters and all that.’
Gareth Llewellyn examined me a bit more and shook his head.
‘No, I never forget a body. Did she really come up the stairs? I thought girls like that only came down the chimney at Christmas time.’
His voice was low in both senses of the word, with a soft but very discernable Welsh accent. I had the feeling he was laughing at me. Gussie shrieked with more giggles; she was beginning to get seriously on my nerves.
We joined Jeremy in a room which looked like the sunset people walk hand-in-hand into, at the end of technicolor films — brilliant pink walls, covered in books and paintings, scarlet curtains, parquet glimmering in pools round flamingo-coloured long-haired rugs, piles of white fur cushions and a long orange sofa. It was vulgar, but it worked. Papers were scattered over the floor and the girl who’d let us in started picking them up.
‘I love your cushions,’ said Gussie, collapsing onto a pile beside Jeremy.
‘I took my hangover to Habitat last Saturday and bought them. At least they keep everyone horizontal,’ said Gareth, winking at me and moving towards a bookshelf of leather-bound volumes. The next moment he’d pressed a button and the entire works of Walter Scott slid back to reveal a vast cocktail cabinet.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘What would anyone like?’
He was absolutely not my type. His face was heavy with a powerful butt of a jaw, big crooked nose, full sensual mouth and wicked black eyes which seemed to be continually laughing at some private joke.
His skin was swarthy, and his thick black hair, prematurely streaked with grey, grew over his collar and in long sideboards down his cheeks. He was wearing light grey corduroy trousers and a dark blue shirt, open at the neck to show a mat of black hair. His height and massive shoulders didn’t entirely draw the eye away from a thickening waistline.
He handed me a drink. ‘There you are, baby. It’s a real L.O.’
‘L.O.?’
‘Leg opener. Never fails to work.’
Blushing angrily, I turned away.
By the time he had fixed us all drinks, the beautiful red-head had collected all the papers from the floor.
‘You haven’t met my PA, Mrs Smith, have you?’ said Gareth. ‘Now, in her case the “A” stands for Aphrodisiac. Do you want a drink, lovely?’
She shook her head and gave him her pussy-cat smile.
‘I ought to be getting home. My poor husband will be wondering what the hell’s happened.’
‘I’ll see you out,’ said Gareth. ‘I won’t be a minute,’ he added to us.
‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’ said Gussie.
‘Great,’ I replied, unenthusiastically.
There was a crude power about him. I could see why certain women might go for him — but not me. I detest those big, hunky aggressively sexual men; they make me feel claustrophobic. I like my men gentle, reticent, subtle. Gareth Llewellyn was about as subtle as a steam roller in overdrive.
I wandered round the room examining objects and giving Jeremy the opportunity to admire my figure. I avoided looking into an adjoining room, after glimpsing one of the biggest double beds I’d ever seen. I half expected to see a blonde in gold lamé pyjamas revving-up beneath the sheets.
A slight breeze swayed the curtains, bringing a scent of mignonette and tobacco plants from the window box outside. I looked out of the window. Down below Gareth Llewellyn was talking to Mrs Smith. Suddenly he pulled her into his arms and kissed her very thoroughly. After a minute, he let her go and opened the car door for her. She patted his cheek with her hand.
As he turned to come back into the house, he looked up and caught me looking at him, and grinned.