Jilly Cooper - Imogen

‘I took one look at you,’ he crooned in her ear, ‘That’s all I meant to do, And then my heart stood still. How would you like to go to a party in Rome?’

‘I’m supposed to be going to one in Marbella tomorrow,’ said Imogen.

‘Oh, that’ll be Effie Strauss’s thrash. I’ll give you a lift if you like.’

They danced and danced, drank and drank, and although she was slightly missing the forehand drives of conversation he didn’t seem to mind at all. Then she remembered she’d left Larry in the garden. She must go and find him. As she reached the end of the lawn, she passed a couple under a fig tree locked in a passionate embrace. The girl’s silver blonde hair fell below her waist.

‘The moment I saw you yesterday,’ the man’s voice was saying huskily, ‘Pow, suddenly it happened, like being struck down by a thunderbolt. I don’t know what it is about you, Tracey darling, but it’s something indefinably different.’

‘And your pulse, my darling, is going like the Charge of the Light Brigade,’ shrieked Imogen loudly, and rushed off howling with laughter as they both jumped out of their skins.

She was still laughing when she found Larry rolling a joint by the flamingo pool. ‘It’s light up time,’ he said again.

‘This is the best party I’ve ever been to,’ she said.

‘Have a drag of this,’ said Larry, ‘and it’ll seem even better.’

‘I don’t smoke,’ said Imogen.

‘Go on. I’m a great believer in first times. There may not be another opportunity.’

He lit the cigarette, inhaled deeply two or three times, then handed it to her. She took a nervous puff and choked, then took another one; then she put the joint in the snarling mouth of the stone lion at the end of the seat, and she and Larry both laughed immoderately. Then she took another drag.

‘Nice?’ asked Larry.

‘Yes,’ sighed Imogen. ‘It makes the flamingos so pink and the water so green.’

Three-quarters down the cigarette, by which time they were both cackling with laughter over anything, she turned and looked at him. He was really very attractive in a hawk-like ravaged way. And quite old enough to be her father — so that made everything quite safe.

‘Larry.’

‘Yes, angel.’

‘Do you think I’m pretty?’

‘Exquisitely so,’ and he bent over and kissed her very slowly and with velvet artistry.

‘And now you’re even prettier.’ He took a deep drag on the cigarette, then kissed her again, and this time it took much longer.

Imogen got to her feet and went to the edge of the pool. The flamingos seemed to be floating above the water, the turning beam of the lighthouse revolving most erratically. The huge stars were so near she could have reached up and plucked them.

‘Don’t go away,’ said Larry. ‘The way to heaven is paved with bad intentions.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’ She could hear the throb of drums and the carnival howls of the party. ‘When love comes in and takes you for a spin, Oh la la la, c’est magnifique’, played the band.

The night was so warm and beautiful, yet she felt a terrible stab of longing. If only Matt were here. Then suddenly she was filled with passion and resolve and 86 per cent proof courage.

‘Larry darling,’ she turned to him. ‘People keep telling me I’ve got to grow up and live a little and get some experience with men, and catch up with Cable and Yvonne and Tracey and things. You wouldn’t help me, would you, and teach me about sex?’

‘Wouldn’t I just? What an offer! Christ, if you want experience, I’m your man, sweetheart. Je suis le professeur . Now stay here and finish the joint, and I’ll go and get another bottle and we’ll take it down to the beach.’

Imogen collapsed back on the seat. ‘When love comes in and takes you for a spin,’ she sang to the flamingos. She was feeling very light-headed.

From where she was sitting, she could see some planes parked in a field. Perhaps one was waiting to whisk the screen’s greatest lover off to Rome. Beyond the planes were a row of cars, mostly Rolls-Royces and Bentleys, but standing there, cleaner than any other, was James and Yvonne’s pale blue Cortina. Suddenly Imogen felt an overwhelming urge. She opened her bag, scrabbling inside for a lipstick. She found one that Gloria had given her for her birthday that she’d never used. It was dark maroon and called Plum Dynasty — to make you more sophisticated, Gloria had said.

‘Jolly soppy name,’ said Imogen, giggling hysterically to herself as she ran through the trees towards the cars. ‘Fancy founding a dynasty of plums. Anyway, your hour has come, Plum,’ and she repeated ‘Come Plum’ several times to herself, giggling some more.

And there was the pale blue boot door of Yvonne’s car, just asking to be scribbled on. She unscrewed the lipstick and wrote ‘Yvonne Edgworth’ in a large maroon scrawl. Then she added ‘is a stroppy cow’, then crossed out ‘cow’ and put ‘bitch’ and ‘hen-pecker’. Then she wrote ‘bugger’ three times on the top of the car, and ‘fuck’ twice on the windscreen. Then she rushed round to the other side and wrote ‘Yvonne Bismarck — the Iron Duke’, but that wasn’t quite right, so she crossed out the D and changed Duke to Puke, and laughed immoderately at her own joke. She’d just started to write ‘Go Home Carrot Top’ when the lipstick broke in half, so she ran shrieking back to Larry, who had returned and was swaying dangerously as he tried to balance along the top of the stone seat with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other.

He jumped down, spilling some of the champagne, and said, ‘I’ve just seen Yvonne Edgworth asking Omar Sharif if he’d ever bought a whole flower stall for anyone.’

The path down to the sea was quite steep and they were both very drunk, but somehow they managed to support each other.

‘I want to get my organ into Morgan,’ chanted Larry, and they both roared with laughter.

‘I seem to be going from one bad end to another,’ said Imogen. ‘I do love you, Larry. Is it possible to love two people at once?’

‘I think so,’ said Larry, ‘but it’s rather expensive.’

His drawl was more exaggerated than ever. His hair was all over the place.

They reached the beach. Imogen could feel the sand cool and separating beneath her feet. Somewhere on the way down she’d lost her shoes.

‘When love comes in and takes you for a spin,’ sang Larry. ‘I want to get my organ into Morgan. So do a lot of other guys at the party. I found several men in white dinner jackets looking for you when I went back to the house.’

‘There was only one,’ said Imogen. ‘You must have been seeing quadruple.’

And they both shrieked with laughter again. Pot on a lot of drink makes the stupidest things funny.

The whole beach and the distant lights of Port-les-Pins and the lighthouse seemed to hang in a rosy glow. The waves were hissing like little white snakes on the sand. A half grapefruit moon lay on its back in the dark sky — waiting to submit like me, thought Imogen. She felt weightless like an astronaut.

Larry picked up a stick and tried to write with it, but the sand was too dry.

‘Tell the sea to come nearer,’ he said.

They ran whooping hand in hand down to the water’s edge where he wrote Larry Loves Imogen in huge letters in the wet sand. Then he kissed her, and she could feel the warm sea washing over her feet.

‘I’ll give you a crash course in experience,’ he muttered into her hair, ‘you lovely warm thing.’

‘You do realise I haven’t been to bed with anyone before?’

‘I said I was a great believer in first times,’ said Larry, gently pulling her sweater over her head. ‘Shall we swim first? One should always have a bath before sex.’