Jilly Cooper - Octavia

Gareth grinned. ‘I know. I hope you’ve been keeping her on ice for me.’

He helped himself to a cucumber sandwich as big as a doorstep.

‘I’m starving.’ He gave an unpleasant smile in my direction. ‘I don’t know why but I couldn’t eat a thing at lunchtime.’

Bridget Hamilton turned to me. ‘And what do you do in London? You look like a model or an actress or something.’

‘She’s quite unemployable,’ said Gareth.

Bridget looked reproving. ‘I see you’re as rude as ever, Gareth.’ She smiled at me. ‘I never worked in my life until I got married. Anyway, I expect you meet lots of interesting people.’

‘Yes I do,’ I said.

She sighed. ‘The one I’d like to meet is Britt Ekland — so charming looking. Wouldn’t you like to meet Britt Ekland, Hesketh?’

‘Who’s he?’ said Hesketh.

Inevitably there was a good deal of laughter at this and Bridget Hamilton was just explaining, ‘He’s a she, Hesketh, he’s a she,’ when a door slammed and there was a sound of running foot steps and a girl exploded through the French windows. She was as slim as a blade, in jodhpurs and a red silk shirt, with a mass of curly hair and a freckled, laughing face. Her eyes lighted on Gareth and she gave a squeal of delight.

‘Gareth! What are you doing here? How lovely to see you!’

Gareth levered himself out of the deckchair and took both of her hands and stared at her for a long time.

‘But you’ve grown so beautiful, Lorna.’

She flushed. ‘Oh golly, have I really turned into a swan at last?’

‘A fully-fledged, paid-up member,’ he said, bending forward and kissing her smooth brown cheek. There was not much more he could do with us all watching him, but I had the feeling he wanted to take her into his arms and kiss the life out of her.

‘You might acknowledge someone else, darling,’ grumbled her mother.

‘Oh I’m sorry!’ The girl beamed at the rest of us. ‘I’m Lorna. It’s just that I’m so pleased to see Gareth. You will stay for the party, won’t you?’ she added anxiously.

‘I suppose we ought to think about washing a few glasses and rolling up the carpet,’ said Hesketh Hamilton.

‘I must wash my hair,’ said Bridget. ‘It’s the only way I’ll get the garden out of my nails.’

‘Aren’t they complete originals?’ said Gussie, as she and I changed later. She was wandering around in the nude trying to look at her back. Between her fiery red legs and shoulders, her skin was as white as lard.

‘I’m not peeling, am I?’ she asked anxiously. ‘It itches like mad.’

‘Looks a bit angry,’ I said, pleased to see that a few tiny white blisters had formed between her shoulders. It’d be coming off her in strips tomorrow.

‘Isn’t that girl Lorna quite devastating?’ she went on. ‘You could see Gareth wanted to absolutely gobble her up.’

‘She’s not that marvellous,’ I said, starting to pour water over my hair.

‘Oh but she is — quite lovely and so natural. Think of being seventeen again, all the things one was going to do, the books one was going to write, the places one was going to visit. I must say when a girl is beautiful at seventeen she gets a glow about her that old hags like you and I in our twenties can never hope to achieve.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ I muttered into the washbasin.

I knew when I finally finished doing my face that I’d never looked better. My eyes glittered brilliantly blue in my suntanned face; my hair, newly washed and straight, was almost white from the sun. Gussie, I’m glad to say, looked terrible. She was leaning out of the window when there was a crunch of wheels on the gravel outside.

‘Oh look, someone’s arriving. It’s the vicar.’

‘We’re obviously in for a wild evening,’ I said.

‘We’d better go down. Shall I wait?’

‘No. I’ll be ready in a minute. You go on.’

I was glad when she’d gone. I thought she might kick up a fuss at the dress I was going to wear. It was a short tunic in silver chain mail — the holes as big as half-crowns. High-necked at the front, it swooped to positive indecency at the back. Two very inadequate circles of silver sequins covered my breasts. I didn’t wear anything underneath except a pair of flesh-coloured pants, which gave the impression I wasn’t wearing anything at all.

Slowly I put it on, thinking all the time of the effect it would have on Jeremy when I walked into the sedate country living room. I gave a final brush to my hair and turned to look in the mirror. It was the first time I’d worn it with all my party warpaint, and the impact made even me catch my breath. Oh my, said I to myself, you’re going to set them by their country ears tonight. I was determined to make an entrance, so I fiddled with my hair until I could hear that more people had arrived.

There was a hush as I walked into the drawing-room. Everyone gazed at me. Men’s hands fluttered up to straighten their ties and smooth their hair, the women stared at me with ill-concealed envy and disapproval.

‘Christ!’ I heard Jeremy say, in appalled wonder.

But I was looking at Gareth. For the first time I saw a blaze of disapproval in his eyes. I’ve got under his guard at last, I thought in triumph.

There seemed to be no common denominator among the guests. They consisted of old blimps and tabby cats, several dons from the University, and their ill-dressed wives, a handful of people of Lorna’s age, the girls very debbie, the boys very wet, and a crowd of tough hunting types with braying voices and brick red faces. It was as though the Hamiltons had asked everyone they knew and liked, with a total disregard as to whether they’d mix.

I wandered towards Jeremy, Gussie and Gareth.

‘I see you’ve thrown yourself open to the public,’ said Gareth, but he didn’t smile. ‘I suppose I’d better go and hand round some drinks.’

‘You shouldn’t have worn that dress, Octavia,’ said Gussie in a shocked voice. ‘This isn’t London, you know.’

‘That’s only too obvious,’ I said, looking round.

Bridget Hamilton came over and took my arm. ‘How enchanting you look, Octavia. Do come and devastate our local MFH. He’s dying to meet you.’

He wasn’t the only one. Once those hunting types had had a few drinks, they all closed in on me, vying for my attention. Over and over again I let my glass be filled up. Never had my wit been more malicious or more sparkling. I kept them all in fits of braying laughter.

Like an experienced comedian, although I was keeping my audience happy, I was very conscious of what was going on in the wings — Jeremy, looking like a thundercloud because I was flirting so outrageously with other men, Gareth behaving like the Hamilton’s future son-in-law, whether he was coping with drinks or smiling into Lorna’s eyes. Every so often, however, his eyes flickered in my direction, and his face hardened.

About ten o’clock, Bridget Hamilton wandered in, very red in the face, and carrying two saucepans, and plonked them down on a long polished table beside a pile of plates and forks.

‘There’s risotto here,’ she said vaguely, ‘if anyone’s hungry.’

People surged forward to eat. I stayed put, the men around me stayed put as well. The din we were making increased until Gareth pushed his way through the crowd.

‘You ought to eat something, Octavia,’ he said.

I shook my head and smiled up at him insolently.

‘Aren’t you hungry?’ drawled the MFH who was lounging beside me.

I turned to him, smiling sweetly, ‘Only for you.’

A nearby group of women stopped filling their faces with risotto and talking about nappies, and looked at me in horror. The MFH’s wife was among them. She had a face like a well-bred cod.