Jilly Cooper - Imogen

‘I’m one of the lucky ones too,’ drawled Gilmore. ‘Another man’s never looked at old Bambi.’

That’s not right, thought Imogen quickly; both Matt and Cable said she was very attractive.

Larry drained Cable’s drink. ‘Who’s for a refill?’ he said. ‘What are you having, James?’

‘Vodka and pineapple,’ said James. ‘I’m getting quite addicted to it. But for God’s sake don’t tell Yvonne.’

‘And what about you, Tracey?’

‘I’m all right for a bit,’ said Tracey, licking her ice cream, and still engrossed in Imogen’s Scott Fitzgerald. She glanced at the jacket. ‘She writes rather well, this Bodley Head. Has she written lots of other books?’

‘I’m starving,’ said Nicky as the beach emptied for lunch. ‘Let’s find a nice cool restaurant and have something to eat.’

‘And something to drink,’ said Larry.

On the way they called in the hotel, where Cable found a note for Matt.

‘Hooray,’ she said, opening it. ‘It’s from the Blaker-Harrises. There’s a big party on tonight. We’re all invited.’

‘Will it be smart?’ said Yvonne.

‘Pretty,’ said Cable. ‘Lots of Jet Set.’

‘Oh, dear,’ said Larry. ‘I’m getting quite pixillated by high life. The Duchess this morning, the Blaker-Harrises tonight. I must go down to the Sieffs again.’

‘What does everyone want to eat?’ said James, as they sat down in a little restaurant hung with fishing nets and overlooking the sea. ‘Hands up for Salade Niçoise.’

‘I’d like an advocado pear,’ said Tracey.

‘I’d like an enormous vodka,’ said Larry.

He’s deliberately setting out to get drunk again, thought Imogen. A waiter shot past them bearing a plate of pink langoustines to a corner table, and she suddenly felt a stab of misery, remembering last time she’d eaten them with Matt in St Tropez. She wondered for the hundredth time how he was getting on.

They’d reached the coffee stage by the time he arrived. Cable and Yvonne were discussing what to wear that evening, Nicky was making discreet eyes at Tracey and talking to James about Forest Hills at the same time, Larry was ordering another bottle, when she saw him standing in the doorway watching them.

I can’t help it, she thought in misery, every time I see him, I want to bound forward like a dog and wag my tail and jump all over him.

‘Matt,’ shouted Larry, ‘bon journ main sewer. Qu-est-que ce going on up at Château Braganzi?’

Matt pulled up a chair and sat down between him and Cable.

‘Jesus, what a story,’ he said. ‘It’s so hot it frightens me.’

‘Well, have a drink, and then it won’t any more,’ said Larry.

Matt shook his head. ‘I’d better stay sober. Going to need all the wits I’ve got. I’ll have some coffee. Are you all right, darling?’ he said to Cable, then not giving her time to answer, turned to Imogen. ‘They both sent their love. They gave me a present for you, but I left it behind. I’ll bring it back when I go up this evening and show them the copy — if I ever get it together, that is.’

‘You’d better get it written this afternoon,’ said Cable. ‘The Blaker-Harrises are giving a party tonight.’

‘Well, they’ll manage without me,’ said Matt.

‘That’s ridiculous,’ snapped Cable. ‘It can’t take you that long. You’re not writing a novel.’

‘Bloody nearly. I’ve just talked to the paper. They’re going to hold the review front for it. You can’t churn that out in a couple of hours.’

‘There’ll be a lot of talent at the Blaker-Harrises,’ said Cable tauntingly. ‘Rod Stewart’s going to be there.’

‘Well, you won’t need me either.’ As soon as he finished the cup of coffee he got to his feet. ‘I’d better get started. Did you find me a typewriter?’

‘No,’ said Cable.

‘Christ,’ said Matt.

‘I did try, but I had a lot of things to do this morning,’ she added defensively.

‘I’ve no doubt one of them was human.’

‘What d’you mean?’ said Cable, momentarily nonplussed.

‘You should tidy up after your gentlemen friends. One of them left this on the bed this morning,’ said Matt, and there was a slither of gold as he dropped Nicky’s medallion on to Cable’s lap.

There was an awful pause, then Cable said, ‘Oh, that’s Nicky’s. The hot tap wasn’t working in his room, so he used our shower. Perhaps you’d have a word with Madame, seeing she’s a friend of yours.’

Matt looked at Nicky reflectively for a minute and then he laughed. ‘I would have thought a few cold showers would have done you all the good in the world, Nicky boy,’ and he was gone.

There was another long pause.

‘I’m going to the hairdresser this afternoon,’ said Yvonne.

‘So am I,’ said Cable.

Nicky turned to Tracey. ‘How would you like to come for a ride on a pedalo?’

Larry looked out of the window at the heat haze shimmering on the road out of the village: ‘I think it’s going to snow. I want another large vodka.’

Larry and Imogen and James went back to the beach and they taught her how to play poker, but before long the heat and the heavy lunch overcame James and he staggered back to the hotel for a siesta. Larry picked up his camera. ‘Let’s wander along the beach. I’d like to take some pictures of you.’

‘Oh, please no,’ stammered Imogen. ‘I don’t take a very good photograph.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Larry. ‘I’m the one who takes the good photographs.’

And certainly he was so quiet and gentle, and snapped away so unobtrusively, and flattered her so outrageously, that she was soon relaxing and posing in every position he suggested, on the rocks, paddling in the shallows, lounging against a breakwater.

‘Has anyone told you what a pretty girl you are?’ he said.

Imogen gazed at his thick black and grey hair, as he bent over the viewfinder.

‘Yes, one or two people,’ she said bitterly. ‘And then they rush off with other people, telling me I’m too inexperienced.’

He looked up. ‘Finding the musical beds confusing, are you? I must say we’re a pretty decadent lot for you to stumble on, except perhaps Yvonne, and she’s enough to put one off respectability for life, the frigid bitch. Turn your head slightly towards the sea, darling, but leave your eyes in the same place.’

‘But Matt doesn’t seem like that.’ The temptation to talk about him was too strong.

‘Matt’s different,’ said Larry, changing the film.

‘In what way?’ said Imogen, letting her hair fall over her face so Larry couldn’t see she was blushing. ‘I mean, when he gave Cable that medallion he must have known what she’d been up to with Nicky, but he didn’t seem in the least put out. He was far more annoyed with her not getting the typewriter.’

‘He completely switches off when he’s working. Until he’s got that piece finished, and it’s going to be a bugger — turn your head slightly to the left, darling — he won’t notice if Cable’s being laid end to end by all the frogs in Port-les-Pins.’

‘It must be awfully irritating for her. She’s so beautiful.’

‘She’s nothing special. Just a spoilt little bitch who doesn’t know what she wants.’

‘She wants Matt,’ said Imogen.

‘Et alia. But I’ve got a feeling each time she cheats on him, it worries him less — head up a bit, darling — and if he allows her enough rope, she’ll hang herself.’

Imogen giggled, and felt a bit better, and allowed herself a tiny dream about getting a job in the library on Matt’s newspaper and his taking her on a story, and then getting snowed up.

‘That’s enough work for one afternoon,’ said Larry. ‘Let’s go and have a drink.’ He screwed his eyes up to look out to sea. ‘Where’s that pedalo? I hope Nicky hasn’t sunk without Tracey.’