Jilly Cooper: Prudence

‘I don’t like cold houses and warm drink,’ said Pendle, ‘but it had its compensation. Where do you live?’

‘On my nerves and on the edge of Battersea Park. My flatmate works in publishing. She’s lovely.’

‘All girls say their flatmates are lovely.’

‘She really is. She’s having an affair with a married man, going home to bed in the lunch hour and all that.’

‘What about you?’ he said.

‘I play the field,’ I said.

It was true. I had plenty of boyfriends at that time, but no one I really cared about. I was poised for the big dive.

The sky was a brooding dappled dun colour; the moon was drifting through the clouds like a distraught hostess. A slight breeze jostled the leaves along pavements and gutters. We were driving along the Embankment now, the river rippling in the moonlight. Such was my euphoria, I didn’t realize we hadn’t crossed Chelsea Bridge towards Battersea until we drew up at a large block of flats.

‘ Ou sommes-nous maintenant? ’ I said.

‘ Mon apartement ,’ said Pendle.

‘ Oh la la. Where’s that?’

‘Westminster. Very convenient for my chamber in the Temple.’

‘Torture chambers,’ I muttered. ‘I suppose that’s where you dream up devilish plots to confound your poor victims.’

Pendle lent across and opened the door for me.

‘I don’t usually go to men’s flats the first night I meet them,’ I said.

‘I’m sure you don’t,’ he said calmly. ‘I hope you don’t usually go to parties like Marcia’s.’

‘Oh well,’ I said, as he locked the car, ‘just a quick drink and then home.’

‘What floor?’ I said, collapsing into the lift.

‘Thirteen. Are you superstitious?’

‘No, just super.’ As I haphazardly pressed a button, Pendle took me in his arms. That first kiss felt so faint-makingly right that it was only when he stopped for breath that I realized the lift had stopped too. Aware that I wouldn’t be looking my best with smeared lipstick under overhead light, I scrabbled at the lift gates, then felt very silly when I realized we were still on the ground floor.

Pendle laughed. ‘You pressed the wrong button.’

When we finally reached his flat I headed straight for the bathroom for a re-spray. My face was very mussed and flushed. If only I looked as nice after parties as I do at the beginning. To my dismay I then realized I’d left my muck bucket at Marcia’s and brought someone else’s bag instead. Inside I found a notecase with three fivers, a driving licence, several credit cards, and a photograph of a labrador and a tweedy woman with her legs apart. There was even a diary with the pencil still in the back — and we were now in September. Obviously a well-ordered person. Alas the only make-up she had was an awful cherry lipstick, which was hardly sufficient for the repair job I needed. I peered into Pendle’s medicine cupboard hoping for some make-up left by a former or current mistress, but only found expensive aftershave, talcum powder and, what was more interesting, two half-full bottles of tranquillizers and sleeping pills. Perhaps he was much more strung up than he seemed, behind the cool façade.

‘Oh well,’ I thought, taking the shine off with a bit of talcum powder, and slapping his aftershave on to my pulse spots, ‘I’ll just have to rely on personality.’

He was standing in the hall. For a minute he stood there staring at me, as though he was memorizing every feature.

‘It’s incredible.’

‘Will I do?’ I said, swinging on the door handle.

‘A thousand ships,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Well perhaps 950 ships. A purist would grumble about the freckles, and say your eyes were too far apart.’

I looked bemused.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve been trained to be infuriatingly enigmatic. It’s a game I used to play with my brother Jack. You know, Helen was the face that launched a thousand ships; we used to grade women from 1,000 ships downwards.’

‘What’s Marcia?’ I said.

‘She only rates a rather dirty tug boat and a couple of sampans.’

I giggled.

‘She won’t be pleased. I’ve walked off with someone else’s bag.’

‘It seems sad that someone of your tender age should join the criminal classes so early,’ said Pendle.

‘Will you defend me?’

‘M’Lord, the defendant was not in full possession of her senses when the crime occurred.’

‘You can say that again. Had I better take it back?’

‘Christ no, not tonight. Ring up and say you’ve got it. The telephone’s over there.’

Just as I was dialling, Pendle picked up my hair and kissed me on the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

‘Nice hair,’ he said. ‘Is it natural?’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I’m far too young to dye.’

I actually made him laugh. Oh, the wages of scintillation! Then I had to dial the number again.

Marcia was cross. ‘We’ve been looking for it everywhere, and Mummy and I wanted to do the washing up. Where are you?’

‘Back home. I’ll bring it over first thing in the morning.’

I wandered into the drawing-room which was beautiful, harmonizing greys and rusts, with several abstract paintings with signatures even I’d heard of, thousands of books, and the sort of vastly elaborate hi-fi system you need a licence to drive. He opened a cupboard full of drink. That ought to have been another warning. If Jane and I have a bottle in our flat, we drink it. If there’s more than one we give a party.

‘What d’you want to drink?’ he said.

‘A gimlet please,’ I said, thinking that would fox him. But he reached straight for the Vodka.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t any fresh limes,’ he said. ‘Will lime juice do? I’ll get some ice. Put a record on.’

They were all classical, but I by-passed the Bach and the Bruckner and put on Ravel’s Bolero. That beat drives me insane.

He came back and handed me a large drink.

‘How delicious,’ I said, taking a huge gulp that nearly took my throat off. He poured himself some whisky and sat down on the sofa opposite me. He lit a cigarette and stared at me through the smoke — it was very unnerving. He’s the only man I’ve met who is completely unembarrassed by silences.

‘I was at school with Marcia,’ I said. Silly that the old bag seemed to be our main point of communication. ‘She was always winning prizes for history.’

‘She still seems to be buried in the Dark Ages,’ said Pendle.

‘How do you know her?’

‘Her father’s a high court judge.’

Oh, so he was ambitious. I started to sing that snatch of Gilbert and Sullivan about falling in love with an old attorney’s elderly ugly daughter.

‘Not that Marcia’s so elderly or ugly really,’ I added, quickly remembering that men aren’t supposed to like bitchy girls.

‘I couldn’t do that,’ I rattled on. ‘Marry someone awful just to advance my career. I don’t think I could ever sleep my way to the top.’

The rate I was going downhill, I reflected, I could easily sleep my way to the bottom. I did fancy him, but I mustn’t, not on the first night. I was far too tight anyway, and my Bermuda shorts were even tighter; they left the most unattractive creases on my body.

He was still staring at me. I tried to cross my legs, but found they were already crossed. That Bolero was really getting going now. Tum-tutty tum, tutty, tutty, tutty tum, tutty, tum. I was itching to dance — but instead I got up and went over to look at his books. There was some philosophy, some poetry, but mostly law books.

I turned round and, smiling, danced slowly towards him. The music made me feel as though I had long gipsy skirts on. I must have looked an idiot in those Bermudas. I stood swaying in front of him. He watched me through narrowed eyes for a moment, then caught me by the hips and pulled me on to his knees.