Jilly Cooper - Bella

‘Utterly hellish,’ said Bella through chattering teeth. ‘I’ve just been sick.’

‘All that smoked salmon and brandy,’ sighed Lazlo. ‘What a tragedy.’

Bella ignored him. ‘I may be sick again any minute,’ she said to Roger.

‘It’ll be your entrails next,’ said Lazlo. ‘Have you got any whisky, Roger?’

Before the performance Roger went on stage and told the audience Bella had been released and cleared of all charges. When she made her first entrance there were a few isolated claps. Then a storm of applause followed and the audience cheered their heads off. Bella nearly broke down.

At the end of the play she received the biggest ovation of her career. But she felt like a husk, completely exhausted, very near to tears. In a dream she received congratulations from the rest of the cast, and had just finished changing when Lazlo walked into her dressing-room.

‘Can’t you knock?’ she said crossly.

‘Don’t be silly,’ he said, taking her arm. ‘Come on, we can’t fend off the Press any longer.’

‘I’m going home by myself,’ she said, snatching her arm away, and, running down the stairs, she tugged open the stage door. Immediately, she was blinded by a volley of flash bulbs and the whirring of television cameras.

‘There she is,’ shouted a hundred voices.

‘Oh, no,’ she yelped in horror, and retreated, slamming the door.

In the end it was the same rat race as before, Lazlo protecting her with his arms and Roger Field fending off the crowd. Somehow Lazlo got her into his car, and again, almost before she could draw breath, they seemed to be out on the M4 steaming towards Oxford.

‘Where are we off to now?’ she asked listlessly.

‘To stay with some friends of mine in the country.’

‘I don’t want to stay with any of your bloody friends, not if they’re anything like you.’

‘They’re not,’ said Lazlo calmly. ‘She’s a singer, he writes. You’ll like them.’

‘I haven’t anything to wear.’

‘You won’t need anything. Cass’ll lend you a bikini.’

He turned on the wireless and the hot summer night was suddenly flooded with Mozart. Bella listened to those lovely liquid notes pouring forth like a nightingale, and suddenly the terrible realization that Steve didn’t love her any more swept over her. Unable to stop herself, she broke into a storm of weeping. Lazlo took absolutely no notice and let her cry.

Finally, when she reached the gulping stage, he said, ‘There’s a hipflask in the dashboard; help yourself.’

‘No thank you.’

Heartless beast, she thought furiously. He tricked me, he pretended to be Steve. If Chrissie hadn’t started screaming, he’d have certainly gone the whole hog and screwed me. A hot wave of shame swept over her at the thought of how much she’d enjoyed it at the time.

They had turned off the motorway into deep country now. Cow parsley brushed against the moving car, a huge moon was gliding in and out of transparent wisps of cloud. Finally, Lazlo drew up near a big rambling house, covered in wistaria. Almost at once a woman came running out.

‘Darlings,’ she shouted. ‘You have made good time. How lovely to see you.’

‘This is Bella,’ said Lazlo. ‘She’s brought nothing with her, so you’ll have to lend her everything. I’ll just put the car away.’

The woman hugged Bella. ‘My name’s Cass,’ she said. ‘Lazlo tells me you’ve been having the most awful time. I do hate the Press when their blood’s up.’

They went into a huge untidy room with crumbs all over the floor, bowls of drooping flowers and two grand pianos covered with books and music.

A man with spectacles on top of his head put down his book and came forward to welcome Bella.

‘I escaped up to London for your first night. You were superb. Come and sit down and I’ll get you a drink.’

Cass plonked herself on the sofa opposite Bella and stretched out fat legs, burnt red by the sun.

‘Grenville’s been in love with you for years, ever since he saw you on television once.’

Grenville blushed. ‘I suppose we haven’t got any ice, darling?’

‘None at all,’ said Cass cheerfully. ‘The fridge is so frozen up I can’t get the ice tray back in.’

When he had gone out she said, ‘I didn’t know the set-up, so I’ve put you and Lazlo in different rooms, but he’s in a huge double bed so you can always join him.’

‘Oh no!’ said Bella, horrified into dropping her guard. ‘I’d rather sleep with a cobra than Lazlo.’

‘How are the children?’ said Lazlo, walking into the room, his arms full of bottles of drink.

Bella went scarlet. How much had he heard of her last remark?

‘The children are away this weekend, thank God,’ said Cass. ‘I do love them, but it’s bliss when they’re away. They’re boys,’ she added to Bella, ‘ten, eight and seven.’

‘I’ve brought them some gin,’ said Lazlo. ‘I know they like it.’

Cass laughed. ‘What are you doing after Othello ?’ she said to Bella.

‘ The Seagull — we start rehearsing on Monday.’

For the first time in days she felt at home. So much so that half an hour later she wasn’t too shy to ask if she might go up to bed.

She slept until lunchtime, then got up, bathed and washed her hair. To her annoyance the orange rinse still wouldn’t come out and her hair had gone impossibly fluffy like candy floss. She found Lazlo in the garden, his feet up on a table, reading the racing news, drinking champagne and tearing a chicken apart. He was wearing only a pair of dirty white trousers, and his swarthy skin was already turning brown.

‘Where are the others?’ she said.

‘Working. Have some chicken?’

‘No thank you. I’m not hungry.’ It was a lie. She was starving.

He poured her out a glass of champagne and said, ‘I do hope you’re not going to be boring and sulk the whole weekend. I’m about to ring my bookmaker. I fancy Bengal Freedom, Safety Pin and Happy Harry. Shall I put a fiver on each of them for you?’

Bella picked up the paper and scanned it.

‘No,’ she said coldly. ‘I prefer Merry Peasant, Early Days, and Campbell’s Pride in the four o’clock.’

‘They haven’t got a dog’s chance,’ said Lazlo. ‘Still, if you want to waste your money.’

After he’d gone inside she skimmed the rest of the paper. On the front page was a picture of her and Lazlo leaving the theatre.

‘Who stole the diamond?’ screamed the banner headline. ‘Henriques mystery thickens as Bella declared innocent.’

With a beating heart she read the rest of the story, but there was nothing mentioned about her past. Thank God her public image was still intact.

‘I’ve backed your horses for you,’ said Lazlo, returning with another bottle of champagne.

She put down the paper and pointedly picked up her book, trying to concentrate. Lazlo looked at the jacket. ‘It’s junk,’ he said. ‘How far have you got?’

‘Page two hundred and fifty,’ snapped Bella.

‘Oh, yes, that’s the bit just before page two hundred and fifty-one,’ said Lazlo.

Bella ignored him.

She later had the indignity of watching the three horses Lazlo had backed romping home several lengths clear in three successive races. Her horses weren’t even placed.

‘You owe me fifteen pounds,’ said Lazlo. ‘I shan’t press you for payment.’

Not trusting herself to speak, Bella went off for a walk. Even the bosky greenness everywhere couldn’t cure her bad temper. By the time she reached the village shop, however, hunger overcame her and she bought two huge cream buns. She was just wandering back to the house, stuffing her face with one of them, when a dark green Mercedes glided down the road towards her. Choking with rage she turned her bulging cheeks towards the hedgerow.