‘You know him?’
‘You could say that. We have a deal on, and I’m waiting to see if he delivers.’
‘Tilly, this is unfair. Exciting me like this.’
‘No it’s not. It’s very fair actually. Let’s change the subject. What’s happening?’
‘Well, Harriet’s come back to confess, and to see what if anything needs doing, and I’m taking her car on to London.’
‘I might come with you,’ said Tilly, plunging her small neat head under the water, emerging and shampooing it furiously. ‘Would you mind? Why are you going to London anyway?’
‘I can’t take much more of this. I’ve had a huge row with my father, and I want to see my girlfriend.’
‘Your girlfriend? Is she nice?’
‘She’s glorious,’ said Mungo simply. ‘I told you, she’s the only reason I’m not in that bath with you.’
‘You can tell me more in the car. Pass me that towel, would you?’
‘What about Rufus? Won’t he want to come?’
‘Maybe, maybe not,’ said Tilly briefly, ‘but he’s not coming.’
‘Why not?’
‘Can’t tell you. Well, partly because he knows he has to stay here and be a soothing presence. Alongside his beloved mother.’
‘Don’t you like Susie?’ said Mungo surprised.
‘Yes, of course I do. Why?’
‘You sounded a bit – disapproving suddenly.’
‘You’re imagining things’ said Tilly briefly, but Mungo, who could be surprisingly perceptive, had touched a nerve. She was in fact still to establish exactly how she felt about Susie in the light of her discovery about Rufus’s undoubted parentage; more amused than shocked certainly, concerned over Rufus rather than any major moral issue, but just the same her instant liking for Susie had cooled, dimmed.
She looked at Mungo and smiled reassuringly. ‘Now could you maybe go and find him and ask him to come up and see me here?’
There was a gentle knock on the door. ‘Come in,’ said Tilly. Only Rufus would have knocked like that.
He came in smiling, pushed the door shut behind him. ‘Hallo,’ he said.
‘Hallo,’ said Tilly, and thought how for the first time in her life the expression ‘My heart turned over’ meant something, meant exactly in fact what she was experiencing now.
‘Nice bath? Merlin told me he’d shown you up here.’
‘Very. I feel a lot better.’ She put out her hand, stroked his face. He caught the hand, kissed her palm. Sensation soared through Tilly, echoing down her body. ‘Shit,’ she said. ‘Shit, Rufus.’
‘What did I do?’
‘Made me want to fuck you,’ she said simply.
‘Now?’
‘No,’ she said, thinking with sorrow of the conversation they had to have, as soon as possible, ‘no, not now, it wouldn’t be very proper, would it?’
‘Ottoline Mills, when were you concerned about being proper?’ asked Rufus, smiling. He put his hand out again, undid the towel, pulled it off, touched her breasts. ‘Lovely,’ he said, ‘so lovely, I love those breasts so much.’
Tilly was silent. His hand moved down, over her body, smoothing her stomach, his fingers strong, rhythmic. He bypassed her bush briefly, started stroking her thighs, moved forward, started to kiss her. He kissed very skilfully, Rufus did, Tilly thought, hanging confusedly to her determination through the whirlwind of beating, throbbing sensation travelling through her; slowly, carefully, and yet with immense pleasure. ‘You kiss with your cock, did you know that?’ she had said the very first time he had ever kissed her and he had laughed and said how novel. He was kissing her with his cock now, it was all she could think of, his strong, pleasure-bringing, powerful cock. She felt herself begin to tremble, her invariable signal of sexual arousal, and despite her resolve, pressed very gently, tremulously even, pressed her hips against his, pulled his head harder onto hers, pushed a hand down the front of his trousers, seeking, finding, caressing his penis.
‘God,’ said Rufus, ‘God, Tilly, come on, let’s find somewhere,’ and he took her hand and she pulled the towel around her again, and he led her along the corridor and up the back stairs to the big attic room, locked it behind them.
‘Oh my darling, darling Tilly,’ he said, ‘I love you so much, so very, very much.’
Tilly said nothing, but she smiled at him and lay down instantly on the dusty floor, opening her arms; he was pulling off his clothes, dragging off shirt, jeans, shoes, pants, his eyes locked with hers, and then he lay down beside her, and very gently began to kiss her breasts again.
Tilly threw back her head, her eyes closed, feeling his tongue circling her nipples, pushing herself against him, feeling his penis growing, growing against her; she loved this moment almost best, when he was still outside her, when every atom of her energy was absorbed in reaching for him, wanting him, urging towards him, when she could think, see herself opening to him, awaiting him, and then, then he was in her, sinking in, into her fathomless wet softness, his penis reaching into her charged, innermost places, and then she turned, rose, knelt above him, riding him, wildly, almost angrily, rising and falling with her own pleasure, feeling the circles begin, the whirling, powerful circles drawing her in, faster, faster, into a vortex of sensation, and she was plunging now, pulling at him, dragging him after her, forcing his own pleasure into her, and she heard herself cry out sharply, felt herself rising finally into the bright darkness, and then the tumbling of release, endless sweet falling, and she fell on him, kissing him, stroking him, loving him and wondering how she could possibly ever have thought of leaving him.
And then she opened her eyes and looked at him, looked at James Forrest’s face, and knew that that was what she had to do.
‘Now listen,’ she said to Harriet who was sitting tearstained in the kitchen, drinking a cup of tea with Merlin, ‘you are not to let them upset you. You did what you thought you had to do, and you’ve taken a lot of shit today – sorry, Merlin – and if Cressida doesn’t want to talk to you, frankly, that’s her loss. OK?’
‘Well spoken,’ said Merlin. ‘Couldn’t have put it better myself. Don’t you worry, Tilly, I’ll see they don’t give her a hard time. Silly little thing. Needs her bottom smacked if you ask me.’
Tilly and Harriet both smiled at him, Harriet rather weakly.
‘Pity you’re going,’ said Merlin to Tilly, ‘I would have liked to get to know you better. Another time, perhaps.’
‘That’d be good,’ said Tilly. ‘I’d like it too.’
‘And you will go to Cressida’s flat, won’t you?’ said Harriet. ‘Just to make sure. Not that you’ll be able to get in. But the caretaker might – well, you could explain.’
‘Sure,’ said Tilly, ‘I’ll explain. Don’t worry. And I’ll call you when I get home. Sure you won’t come with me?’
‘I’d love to,’ said Harriet wistfully, ‘but it would be running away. And whatever else, I’ve never done that.’
‘Pity you didn’t run away from the awful school,’ said Merlin. ‘Dreadful place. Cruelty to children sending you there.’
‘Janine tried to save me too,’ said Harriet, blowing her nose. ‘What would I have done without the pair of you? She spent hours arguing with Daddy. I heard her once. And she wrote me more letters when I was there than anybody.’
‘Did she by Jove?’ said Merlin, his old head lifting and almost visibly sniffing the air with pleasure. ‘What a girl, eh? Can’t think why I never got together with her before. Anyway, I’m taking her out to dinner tonight, what do you think about that, both of you? Your mother didn’t seem too pleased, but by my reckoning Janine’s earned it.’
‘Oh, Merlin, no, don’t go out,’ wailed Harriet. ‘I need you here.’
‘Come with us,’ said Merlin.
‘Darling Merlin, I wouldn’t dream of playing gooseberry. But you will be back, won’t you?’
‘Of course. Not too late either. Got to get going in the morning.’
‘Sure,’ said Tilly, ‘I did some pictures for them a few weeks ago in Mexico. Nice things. A bit like yours, only not such quality. They’re doing a really great catalogue.’
‘So who was there from the company?’
‘Guy called Ken Lazard, the head of marketing, and the chief designer, poisonous little tart called tony joel without capital letters. If he said “tony written in lower case” once he said it a hundred times. I was ready to kick him in the balls, sorry, Merlin, by the end of day one.’
‘But Lazard was nice?’
‘Yeah, he was a honey. Why?’
‘Well, I wondered if you could do a tiny bit of research for me. Some time. Thing is, they were going to come in with me, you know –’
‘Harry! What the hell are you going in with anyone for?’
‘Oh – it’s called salvation, I think,’ said Harriet. She looked into her mug.
‘You in trouble?’ asked Merlin sharply.
‘You could say that, Merlin, yes. Just a tad. Only please don’t say anything to anyone yet, will you? Specially not Janine, I don’t want her worried.’
‘No, no of course not. How bad are things, though?’
‘About as bad as they can be. I have to – well, I have to go into liquidation in the next forty-eight hours, I would say.’
‘Shit, Harry, why didn’t you say so before? That’s really terrible, and it’s so unfair.’
‘Yes, well, life’s not fair, is it?’ said Harriet, determinedly calm. ‘And I have to say I’ve been extremely stupid. I probably deserve it. But –’
‘Nonsense,’ said Merlin, ‘of course you don’t. Look, anything I can do, Harriet, talk to a few people, beat them down, you know I will.’
‘Merlin, I do know,’ said Harriet, patting his hand, ‘and thank you. Anyway the Cotton people seemed really keen until a couple of days ago. Practically signing. Then they just seemed to pull the plug, wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t return my calls. I just wanted to find out why.’
‘Harry,’ said Tilly slowly, ‘how much money do you need?’
‘Oh – about a million,’ said Harriet cheerfully. ‘See me through. Got it on you?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Tilly. ‘But –’
‘Tilly, what on earth are you hatching?’ said Harriet. ‘I know you earn a bob or two, but –’
‘Oh, I might be able to help,’ said Tilly. ‘Tell you how another time. Anyway, I’ll call Ken now. No time like the present, and it’s a good time, mid-afternoon there. Otherwise we’ll miss them. Got the number?’
‘Tilly, you will be discreet, won’t you?’ said Harriet, thumbing through her filofax. ‘I don’t want to upset them if there’s even the remotest chance.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Tilly impatiently. ‘Can I use this phone, do you think?’
‘No, use my mobile. It’s up in my room.’
Ken Lazard was in a meeting, his secretary said, and she didn’t know when he might be out, could she say who was calling and maybe have him call her back when he had the time?
‘Sure, tell him Tilly Mills,’ said Tilly cheerfully, ‘and I’d like to speak to him pretty soon – I have a message from Patsy Torminster.’ Patsy Torminster had been her co-model on the shoot: as tall as she was, ash-blonde and drop-dead gorgeous.
‘I really don’t see him able to call you before tomorrow soonest,’ said the girl, a heavy frost descending on her voice, ‘he is really very busy indeed.’
‘OK, OK,’ said Tilly. ‘Just deliver the message, would you?’
Ken Lazard was on the line inside thirty seconds; Tilly grinned into the phone.
‘Hi, Ken. That must be a very important meeting.’
‘It is,’ said Ken. ‘How are you, Tilly?’
‘I’m good, thank you. How are you?’
‘Fine, fine. God, that was a good week. Didn’t we have fun? What’s this message from Patsy?’
‘Well, there isn’t exactly one,’ said Tilly, a rather vivid memory rising in front of her eyes of Ken Lazard andPatsy Torminster writhing around in the Mexican surf, ‘but she’ll be in New York next week. And I’ll remind her to look you up.’
‘Bitch,’ said Ken Lazard amiably. ‘So what do you want, Tilly?’
‘I want you to do a little research for me,’ said Tilly. ‘And then get back to me quickly. And I really will get you the name of Patsy’s hotel in return. Now this is for a friend of mine …’
‘Ken Lazard will ring me before the end of the day,’ she said to Harriet, walking back into the kitchen. ‘Their day. So in around three or four hours. OK? And don’t worry, he will. He’s very well motivated.’
‘Tilly,’ said Harriet, ‘I love you.’
‘Tilly,’ said Rufus, ‘I love you. And I don’t know why you have to go.’
‘Because I have to work tomorrow,’ said Tilly, ‘and because this is family business. I did what I could for Oliver, which wasn’t much. He wasn’t talking.’
‘He really wasn’t? I thought he would to you,’ said Rufus.
‘No, he’s scared,’ said Tilly. ‘Scared to start, you know? I mean he didn’t even tell me Cressida was pregnant. He’s a very screwed-up guy, that one.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Yeah. Mind you, if I had Julia for a mother I’d be screwed-up.’
‘Nothing would screw you up,’ said Rufus fondly.
‘You’d be surprised,’ said Tilly.
Mungo talked about Alice all the way to London. Tilly was intrigued by the affair. Given Mungo’s past and reputation, Alice must be one hell of a woman. Although of course it didn’t exactly take Sigmund Freud to see why Mungo would be in love with someone almost old enough to be his mother. Just the same –
‘What about children, Mungo?’ she asked, as they began to hit the hideous outer reaches of London on the M40. ‘Don’t you want them?’
‘Yes, of course I do,’ said Mungo slightly irritably, ‘but we can have them. Alice is only thirty-nine, for God’s sake. She’s not a menopausal old crone. Anyway, she’s had it checked out.’
‘Oh really? Good. Well, I can’t wait to meet her.’
‘You’d love her,’ said Mungo, ‘you really would. I’ve never felt so – oh, I don’t know, safe before. I’d take you there with me now, but I’m surprising her, she doesn’t think I’m coming and – well –’
‘Of course not,’ said Tilly, ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. Anyway, I have to get back. I’m expecting lots of calls. Including one from Mick McGrath. Fucking Sept Jours may want to shoot another two wedding dresses, in which case I’ll have to go back tomorrow afternoon.’
‘What, to Paris? Bloody hell. Pretty hectic your life, isn’t it?’ said Mungo.
‘Tell me about it,’ said Tilly. ‘Now look, Mungo, I’d like you to come with me to Cressida’s flat. It won’t take long and it’s on the way to your Alice. OK?’
‘Sure. Why isn’t Rufus coming up with you, as a matter of interest?’
‘Because he felt he should stay down. Do his bit. You know how Rufus is about doing his bit.’
‘Sure,’ said Mungo. ‘Are you guys going to get it properly together then?’
‘Shouldn’t think so,’ said Tilly. She felt him look at her, fixed her eyes firmly on the architectural splendours of the Hoover factory they were passing.
‘Why not? You seem pretty good together to me.’
‘Yeah, well, we may be,’ said Tilly, ‘but that doesn’t mean our lives exactly gel. Think about it. Anyway, why should we want to change things? They’re OK how they are.’
‘Sure.’ There was a silence, then Mungo said, ‘So how did you like his Mum? Now there is one nice lady.’
‘Yeah,’ said Tilly briefly.
Mungo looked at her again. ‘But? What is it with you and her?’
‘Look, Mungo,’ said Tilly, ‘can we drop all this? I’m tired. Let’s just
concentrate on getting to Cressida’s flat, and then home, OK?’
‘OK,’ said Mungo.
Cressida’s flat was in Chelsea, in a small modern block just off World’s End.
‘I think it’s the first floor,’ said Mungo, looking up at it slightly nervously. ‘I’ve never actually been there, but it’s number 2B.’
‘And what do we do if we do get in? Look for clues? God, this is like that board game, what’s it called, with Miss Scarlett and the Rev somebody.’
‘Cluedo,’ said Mungo, pulling up outside the block. ‘I always rather liked it. I don’t know what to do, Tilly. Let’s worry about that when it happens. Shall we go up to the flat first? You never know, she might be there, and we’d look pretty silly asking the caretaker to let us in if she was.’
‘Sure.’
But the door to the street was locked, with an entryphone for each flat; they tried 2B without success.
‘The caretaker then,’ said Mungo, ringing that bell. No answer; he rang it again without success.
‘Shit. Must have gone out.’
‘Excuse me,’ said a girl’s voice. ‘Can I just –’
‘Sure,’ said Mungo, stepping aside to let her unlock the door; it was easy to catch it after her and let themselves in.
‘Come on,’ said Tilly, ‘let’s go up.’
The building was clean, clinical; there was a small lift. They stood in it not looking at one another; Tilly felt increasingly nervous without knowing quite why.
The landing was more of a lobby, with the doors to Flats A and B opposite one another; there was loud orchestral music coming from B, and a light showing through the small frosted-glass window in the door.
‘Christ,’ said Mungo, ‘Christ, she’s here.’
Tilly felt her heart begin to thud, her palms suddenly moist. ‘You ring,’ she said. ‘I can’t.’
Mungo looked at her. ‘OK,’ he said. But he didn’t do anything either. ‘What are we going to say to her, Tilly? What are we going to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Tilly. They stared at each other, frozen into stillness.
‘What are we afraid of?’ said Mungo. ‘What is it?’
Another Woman (9781468300178) Page 33
