Jilly Cooper - Octavia

Behind him, smiling sunnily, was the photograph of his wife and children. I had trusted him implicitly.

‘I d-don’t think it’d be very wise,’ I said, backing away from him, ‘I’ve never found married men very satisfactory.’

I wrenched open the door behind me, amazed to find it unlocked. I saw fear start in his eyes, the Medical Council passing judgment. Then he squared his shoulders.

‘Of course,’ he pressed the bell on the desk, magicking up the instant receptionist to show me out.

I ran down the street prescriptionless and sobbed helplessly in the nearest garden square.

By some miracle I got back to the office just before Miss Parkside, the office crone. She arrived grumbling that she couldn’t find a size 16 skirt to fit her anymore, and brandishing a large Fuller’s cake to distract everyone’s attention from her lateness.

‘I suppose I ought to have worn my all in one,’ she said, plunging a knife into the hard white icing, ‘but it’s too hot in this weather. It must be well up in the nineties. Come on, Octavia, you need feeding up.’

She handed me an enormous piece. In order to save money, I’d trained myself to go without lunch and breakfast. I usually had something to eat free in the evening at the restaurant while I was waitressing. Every mouthful of the cake seemed like sand in my throat. All the typists looked sympathetically at my reddened eyes, but said nothing.

My task for the afternoon was to ring up the papers and chase them to come to a press preview the next morning. I found it distasteful and embarrassing. In the middle Xander suddenly rang me. He sounded drunk.

‘I know you don’t like personal calls, darling, but this is a very special one. You’re going to be an aunt.’

‘A what?’

‘An Aunt! Pammie’s pregnant.’

I gave a scream of delight that must have echoed through the whole building.

‘Oh Xander, are you sure?’

‘Quite, quite sure, she’s even being sick, poor darling.’

‘How long’s she known?’

‘Well, just after I went to the Middle East, but she wanted to be quite sure before she told anyone.’

I’d never known him so chipper.

‘Good old Pammie, isn’t it marvellous,’ he went on, ‘Ricky rang me up just now and was so nice, he even congratulated me about work, said the Middle East trip had been a great coup. Look, darling, I mustn’t keep you, I know you’re busy, but come over and celebrate at the weekend.’

I put the telephone down feeling utterly depressed. I knew I ought to be delighted, but all I could think was Xander was getting so far ahead of me in life, with a job that was going well, and a baby on the way. I felt sick with jealousy. I wanted a baby of my own. Listlessly I finished making my telephone calls, and started stapling press releases together for the preview tomorrow. The afternoon sun was blazing through the window. I could feel the sweat running down my back. Miss Parkside and the typists had already started grumbling about the prospects of the journey home.

The telephone went again. Miss Parkside picked it up.

‘For you,’ she said, disapprovingly. ‘Make it snappy.’

It was Lorna. I could recognize the breathless, bubbling schoolgirl voice anywhere. This time she was jibbering with excitement and embarrassment.

‘Octavia, I must see you.’

I felt my hands wet on the telephone.

‘Where are you?’ I said.

‘At home.’

Memories came flooding back, the white house deep in the cherry orchards, Gareth beating the hell out of me, then putting me to bed, Jeremy trying to rape me.

‘But I’m coming to London tomorrow,’ she went on. ‘Could we have lunch, I’ve got something I must tell you.’

‘Nice or nasty?’ I asked.

‘Well, heaven for me, but I’m not sure. .’ her voice trailed off.

‘Tell it to me now.’

‘I can’t, I’m in such a muddle,’ she said. ‘Please, let’s meet for lunch. I’ll come and pick you up.’

‘I’ve got a very heavy day.’

‘You can slip out just for a drink. I’ll pick you up at one o’clock. And please Octavia, don’t, don’t be furious with me.’

The telephone went dead. I stood for a second, then just made the loo in time, and threw up all the Fuller’s cake. For a second I crouched, wracked by retching and sobbing. So it w as true about Gareth and Lorna, it must be what she was trying to tell me. With agonizing slowness, I pulled myself together. You must finish those press releases, I said over and over again, as though it was really me that needed stapling together. I splashed water over my face and rinsed out my mouth. God, I looked terrible. My suntan had turned yellow. My eyes were red and puffy. My hair, filthy and dark mouse at the roots because I couldn’t afford to have it re-streaked, was bleached like straw at the ends. One of the secretaries poked her head round the door.

‘Parkside’s on the warpath,’ she said. ‘Some VIP’s just arrived. Can you make him a cup of coffee and take it into Jakey’s office?’

I couldn’t find my dark glasses. The wretched VIP would have to put up with reddened eyes. I knocked on Jakey’s door and walked into his office. The next moment the cup of coffee had crashed to the ground, for sitting behind the desk was Gareth. He leapt to his feet.

‘Are you OK lovely? You haven’t burnt yourself?’

‘I’m fine,’ I muttered. ‘But it’ll ruin the carpet.’

I grabbed a drying-cloth that was lying on top of the fridge and, kneeling down, started frenziedly mopping up the coffee. Anything for Gareth not to get a glimpse of my face. I hadn’t seen him for over two months; he’d have a fit to catch me looking so awful.

‘Leave it,’ he said. ‘It’ll dry in a minute.’

He put a hand under my elbow and pulled me to my feet.

‘I’ll get you another cup of coffee,’ I said, making a bolt for the door.

But he got there first, standing in front of me, shutting the door firmly. As usual his presence made the room shrink.

‘Sit down,’ he said, tipping a pile of files off a chair. ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘What are you doing here anyway?’ I said. I still hadn’t looked him in the eyes.

‘Visiting my old mate Jakey Bartholomew.’

‘You know him?’ I said sharply. ‘But I didn’t, I mean. .’

‘You should read your own company notepaper,’ said Gareth. He handed me a sheet that was lying on Jakey’s desk. Sure enough in the middle of the list of directors was printed G. Llewellyn.

‘T-then you fiddled me this job,’ I blurted out. ‘I thought I g-got it on my own. .’

‘Merits, yes of course you did,’ he said gently. ‘Jakey’d have never employed you if he hadn’t liked you.’ He held up one of the blown-up photographs of my legs.

‘I must say I like these. I’d recognize those pins anywhere.’

Everything was moving too fast for me. I was trying to work out what influence Gareth must have had over my working at Bartholomews.

‘How are you enjoying it anyway?’ he said.

‘It’s fine. How was the Middle East trip?’

‘Hell,’ said Gareth. ‘And bloody hot and exhausting. Your brother was the only redeeming feature.’

‘He’s nice, isn’t he?’

‘He overreached himself one night. He charmed one sheik so much that later the sheik insisted that only Xander should have the culinary pièce de résistance at dinner.’

‘What was it?’ I said.

‘A sheep’s eyeball,’ said Gareth.

I started to giggle.

‘He’s over the moon about the baby,’ I said, trying to keep the trace of wistfulness out of my voice.

‘Yep, it’s a good thing. It’ll patch up things between him and Ricky, too.’