"We were just going for a swim," said the big girl encouragingly. "We always swim here—isn't that lucky!"
Roche couldn't help smiling at her, even though whatever it had been, this encounter hadn't been a matter of luck.
"Come on, Jilly—introduce us!" said the big girl. "Don't be mean."
"Do shut up, Lexy," said the dark-haired girl. "How can anyone introduce anyone when you're burbling all the time?"
"Oh—sorry! Sorry everyone—" The glazed-eager look embraced them all, settling finally on Roche "—I mean, if he's yours, Jilly darling, I mean double-plus sorry—"
"Oh God!" murmured the dark girl.
"He's not mine, Lexy," said Jilly. "He's not anyone's."
Lexy's mouth—a big generous mouth, revealing very white teeth with gaps in the centre—opened wide.
"Don't say anything, Lexy," said Jilly. "David—Lady Alexandra Perowne—David Roche—Meriel Stephanides—
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David Roche. End of introduction."
"Lexy for short. Pleestameecha, David." Lady Alexandra Perowne began to unbutton her dress.
"Hello, David," said Meriel Stephanides, offering a cool, long-fingered hand to Roche. The dark hair and the pale olive skin were as Mediterranean as the surname, but the voice was English home counties, refined in some exclusive boarding school. Also, now that he looked at her properly, he realised that she was the most arrestingly beautiful of all, so much so that he wanted to go on staring at her with pure platonic admiration, even while trying to take in Lady Alexandra's unbuttoning with entirely different thoughts in mind. For if Lady Alexandra was a splendid English rose in full bloom—or maybe more like a great big prize chrysanthemum—Miss Stephanides was some rarer and more exotic flower, delicate and subtly perfumed.
"Do you hunt?" Lady Alexandra's fingers stopped midway down.
Roche swallowed. "I beg your pardon, Lady Alexandra?"
"Are you cavalry? And 'Lexy', not 'Lady'. Are you cavalry?
You look like a hussar. I met an absolutely smashing one at Christmas, at our hunt ball—Jerry Somebody-or-Other. He wore these marvellous tight trousers which looked like they'd been painted on him—Jerry Somebody—" she waved a rather grubby hand vaguely "—if you're a hussar then you'll know him. He has this birthmark ..."
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Roche tried desperately to concentrate on what she was saying, rather than what she was showing: there was already a generous portion of Lady Alexandra on view, but there was a lot more where that came from—and it was coming, what was more.
"No, I—I'm afraid I'm not a hussar," he said quickly, before she could render Jerry Somebody's identification easier by locating the birthmark for him.
"What a shame!" The grubby paw toyed with the next button.
"But you don't look like a guardsman—"
He had to put a stop to this somehow: that button was going to give way any second now, and then even his sunglasses would be no protection.
"—you look too intelligent for a guardee—almost haggard, like Daddy's accountant—"
"Lexy—" interposed Jilly.
"No! Don't interrupt me when I've almost got it." The paw waved Jilly off, but then came back to the button, tugging at it distractedly. " 'Doing frightfully important things', Jilly said
—something fearfully hush-hush, I'll bet—"
"Lexy!"
"I've got it!" The button gave way. " You're in the Secret Service!"
The moment of truth elongated as she pointed at him in triumph and the dress gaped open.
"You're bursting out all over, Lexy," said Jilly sharply.
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"So what? We came here to bathe, didn't we?" Lexy paused.
"I'm wearing my—" she looked down suddenly "—oh! I'm not, am I!"
"No, you're not, Lexy dear," said Meriel Stephanides. "You're definitely not in the Secret Service, like David."
"Oh— damn!!" exclaimed Lexy, snatching clumsily at the edges of the dress. "You made me come away so quickly—
you're always rushing me, both of you!" As she captured the dress the towel under her arm escaped, liberating two scraps of bright scarlet material at Roche's feet. He bent to retrieve them, half instinctively and half to give himself something to do other than goggling helplessly at a situation which had passed beyond his control.
Lexy's reflexes were one disastrous second slower than his: as he started to straighten up, she bent over him, and his head collided with soft breasts which momentarily enveloped him with expensive perfume, perspiration and embarrassment.
"Oh—fff fff— sorry!" She looked into his eyes at close quarters, but he was too overwhelmed to register her expression. "Thanks—" Pause—"— oh bugger!"
Roche croaked incoherently. What made things worse was that Jilly and Meriel Stephanides, the brains and the beauty of this incongruous trio, were laughing at him.
"Not at all like Tiffany Case," said Meriel.
"Or Vesper—or Gala Brand," said Jilly.
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"Or James Bond, come to that," said Meriel.
"Who?" said Lexy, frowning at them.
"We told you—we gave you From Russia With Love to read, Lexy dear," said Meriel sweetly.
"But she doesn't read thrillers—remember?" said Jilly to her confederate. "She only reads historical novels—she's too busy swotting up on Galla Placidia, to keep up with David Audley tonight—remember?"
Meriel nodded. "Of course! To keep up with David! Sweet chance she's got—of keeping up with David!"
"Always supposing that she still wants to keep up with that David . . ." Jilly nodded meaningfully at Meriel.
"With that David?"
"With that David?" Meriel glanced at Roche calculatingly. "Of course— with that David!"
"Tactics," said Jilly.
"Tactics!" agreed Meriel. "Conjure up the green-eyed monster as an ally: pit David of the Secret Service against David the Dragoon!"
"Of course! That's why she wanted to know whether he'd been a hussar!" Jilly bobbed agreement in turn. "Horse to horse—sword to sword! Or should it be 'sabre'?"
"We'll have to ask him." Meriel continued to consider Roche appraisingly. "But d'you think it'd be a fair match?"
Jilly eyed Roche like a horse-dealer at an auction. "Don't see dummy5
why not. He's a damn sight better-looking, haggard or not.
And he's younger."
"Always back a good young 'un against a good old 'un? But he's not much younger. And maybe he won't bite?"
Jilly looked at Meriel, and shrugged. "We can only try."
“Well then—you try. You know him, after all, Jilly."
"But it was your idea, Steffy."
"No, it wasn't—it was yours!"
Looking from one to the other, Roche decided that it was time the horse had its say in the auction.
"Could someone please tell me what's going on?" He tried not to sound plaintive.
For a moment none of the three girls spoke. Then Lady Alexandra rallied, drawing her dress together as much as its inadequacy allowed.
"Yes. As my Mum always says, 'bitches are women, and vice-versa'. And these two particularly, David," she said icily.
"Whatever they say, you say 'no' to them."
"Nonsense!" snapped Jilly. "And it's your interests we're thinking of. Are you on leave, David? Or are you just passing through?"
Jilly was running the show. Whatever the 'idea' was, it hadn't been Steffy's—it was Jilly who was making the running—
Getting him in!
"I'm on leave. I've three weeks due to me." He smiled dummy5
innocently, playing back to her. "As a matter of fact, I'm gathering material for my somewhat delayed doctorate."
"Doctor—what?" Lexy shook her blonde head at him.
"Doctorate. Not the Royal Army Medical Corps, Lexy dear—