Jilly Cooper - Octavia

‘My shares are, by 10p,’ said Gareth.

‘Don’t you ever let up?’ I said.

‘Only in the mating season.’

‘Jeremee,’ called Gussie from the kitchen.

‘Yes love?’

‘You haven’t kissed me for at least a quarter-of-an-hour.’

Jeremy looked at us and blushed.

‘Get on with it, you flesh monger,’ said Gareth, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll take the wheel.’

‘We’ll be coming up to Ramsdyke Lock in half-an-hour,’ said Jeremy. ‘I’ll come and take over then.’

He went dutifully down into the kitchen.

‘In a few years’ time,’ I said savagely, ‘they’ll be calling each other “Mummy” and “Daddy”.’

I enjoyed going through the lock. The lock-keeper’s little house was surrounded by a garden of flowers as gaudy as the front of a seed packet. A goat looked over the fence, a golden retriever sat lolling its tongue out in the heat. When Jeremy sounded the horn a fat woman in an apron came out and opened the first lot of gates for us. Then the boat edged its way into the dark green cavern with dank slimy walls and purple toadflax growing in the crevices, and the gates clanged behind us. Suddenly water poured in from the other end, gradually raising our boat to the new level of the river.

‘Very phallic, isn’t it?’ said Gareth, who was waiting on the shore to open the gates at the other end.

I looked up at him with loathing. ‘Do you keep your mind permanently below your navel?’

We tied up for lunch under a veil of green willows, and I changed into my favourite bikini, which is that stinging yellow which goes so well with brown skin and blonde hair, and very cleverly cut to give me a cleavage like the Grand Canyon.

‘Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the drink bill,’ said Gareth, pouring himself a quadruple whisky. ‘This weekend is fast degenerating into an orgy.’

He looked up and whistled as I walked into the saloon.

‘Despite your obvious limitations, Octavia, I must admit that you’re very well constructed. Really, it’s a sin for you to wear any clothes at all. Don’t you agree Jeremy?’

Jeremy was devouring me, as a starved dog might look at a large steak. His hand shook as he lit a cigarette, that muscle was going in his cheek again.

‘Oh these engaged men never look at other women,’ I said lightly. ‘Pour me a drink, Gareth darling.’

We all got tight at lunch. It was far too hot to eat but as Gussie had spent all morning making a fish mayonnaise, we had to make half-hearted efforts. She’d even cut the tomatoes into little flowers. As usual she ended up by guzzling most of it herself.

Afterwards, as Jeremy and Gareth cast off, I curled up in a sunbaked corner on deck. A few minutes later Gussie joined me — not a pretty sight in a black bathing dress, her huge white bosom and shoulders spilling over the top. She immediately started boring me making lists for her wedding.

‘There’s so much to do with only a month to go,’ she kept saying. How many double sheets did I think she’d need, and was it absolutely essential to have an egg beater? But her fond dreamy gaze rested more often on Jeremy than on her lists.

‘Isn’t he beautiful?’ she said, then giggled. ‘Gareth’s given me this fantastic sex instruction book. I can now see why so many people end up with slipped discs. The things they expect you to do, and it’s a bit tricky when you have to hold the book in one hand in order to learn how to do it,’ and she went off into shrieks of laughter.

‘How are you getting on with Gareth?’ she went on.

I admired my reflection in her sun glasses. ‘Well I’m not getting off with him, if that’s what you mean.’

‘Ah — but the weekend is still in its infancy,’ said that hateful Welsh voice and Gareth lay down on the deck between us, cushioning his dark head on his elbow, the wicked slit eyes staring up at the burning sky.

‘I’ve just been telling Tavy about your fantastic sex book,’ said Gussie.

‘I wouldn’t have thought she’d need it,’ said Gareth. ‘She must have taken her “L” plates off years ago.’

A large white barge was cruising towards us on the other side of the river. A middle-aged man in a yachting cap was at the wheel, addressing two fat women with corrugated hair up at the front of the boat, through a speaking trumpet. Another man with a white moustache and a red face was gazing at us through binoculars. They all looked thoroughly disapproving. Gareth sat up and waited until they drew level with us.

‘Have a good look, sir!’ he shouted to the man with the binoculars. ‘I’ve got two lovely young girls here, whose knickers are bursting into flames at the sight of you. Only fifty quid each, satisfaction guaranteed. We even accept Barclay Cards.’

The man with the binoculars turned purple with rage and nearly fell off the roof.

‘It’s young men like you who ought to be turned off England’s waterways!’ bellowed the man with the speaking trumpet.

‘We even take luncheon vouchers!’ Gareth yelled after them.

‘I’ll ask you along instead of a conjurer next time I give a children’s party,’ I said.

Gussie, who was doubled up with laughter, got to her feet.

‘I’m going to see how Jeremy’s getting on,’ she said.

I buried my face in my biography of Matthew Arnold.

‘Still on the culture kick?’ said Gareth in amusement. ‘There’s only one poem, lovely, you should read, learn and inwardly digest.’

‘What’s that?’

‘“Who ever loves, if he do not propose

The right true end of love, he’s one that goes

To sea for nothing but to make him sick.”’

‘Who wrote that?’

‘Your alleged favourite, John Donne.’

‘He must have been having an off day,’ I said crossly.

Another boat passed us with a pretty brunette sunning herself on deck. Gareth wolf-whistled at her; she turned round and smiled at him, showing big teeth. Gareth smiled back.

‘Don’t you ever knock it off,’ I snapped. ‘Haven’t you ever heard of the law of diminishing returns?’

A dark green world slid past my half-shut eyes. The darkness of the trees over-arched the olive shadows and tawny lights of the water. On the bank was a large notice: ‘Danger. Keep Away from the Weir.’

‘It’s not the weir that some people should keep away from,’ said Gareth.

Beyond the weir, the surface of the river was smothered in foam, a floating rainbow coloured like gossamer.

‘Oh how pretty it is!’ I cried.

‘Detergent,’ said Gareth.

I shot him a venomous glance and started fiddling with my wireless. I’d given up listening to pop music since I’d met Jeremy, but suddenly I hit upon some grand opera, a soprano and a tenor yelling their guts out. I was just about to switch over when Gareth looked up. ‘For Christ sake turn that caterwauling off. You’ll wake up all the water rats.’

So I kept it on really loud to annoy him, absolutely murdering the peace of the afternoon. After an agonizing three-quarters of an hour, the opera came to an end.

‘What was that?’ bellowed Gussie from the wheel.

‘Don Carlos,’ I said.

‘Oh how lovely! That’s your favourite, isn’t it, Gareth? How many times have you seen it?’

The rat! The snake! Smiling damned villain! I couldn’t trust myself to speak. I turned over and pretended to go to sleep.

I was lying half drugged with sun when I heard Jeremy’s voice. ‘Octavia, are you asleep?’

I opened my eyes; the sky was shimmering with heat. I smiled lazily up at him. From the ribald laughter I could hear, Gareth and Gussie were obviously up at the other end of the boat.

Jeremy sat down beside me.

‘You must watch the sun. With fair skin like yours, you could easily burn.’