Imogen

by Jilly Cooper

  ‘Of course it was. I had the most wonderful time.’

  ‘You were away so long we were about to send out a search party.’

  ‘You didn’t have to. They were lovely to me.’

  ‘Bloody well should have been, after all you did for them. What was she like?’ He let go of her arm.

  ‘Oh sweet, beautiful and well – sort of vulnerable. Where are the others?’

  ‘Inside the bar. Gilmore’s pissed out of his mind. Come and have a drink.’ He put an arm round her shoulders and hugged her for a second. ‘Sorry I snapped, darling. I was worried about you.’

  A great surge of happiness welled up inside her; then she said ‘Down, boy’ to herself as she remembered Matt’s ‘trespassers-will-be-prosecuted’ lecture on the beach that morning. He’d have been worried about anyone in the party who’d been closeted in Braganzi’s fortress as long as she had.

  Inside the bar Larry and Tracey were dancing round to the juke box.

  ‘I’m Larry the Limpet,’ cried Larry, shoving his hand down Tracey’s dress.

  ‘I do wish you’d stop doing rude things,’ she said placidly, pulling his hand out.

  They danced past the ladies which said ‘Little Girls’ on the door.

  ‘I want seven,’ said Larry, banging on the door, ‘and I want them now.’

  Nicky and Cable sat watching them. Nicky was roaring with laughter, Cable wasn’t. James and Yvonne appeared to have gone to bed.

  ‘Darling,’ cried Nicky, jumping up when he saw her, ‘are you all right?’

  Tracey and Larry immediately stopped dancing and came over and showered her with questions.

  ‘It was wonderful,’ Imogen kept saying, embarrassed yet happy to be the centre of attention. ‘The house is beautiful inside and the pictures are amazing.’

  ‘Probably got half the Uffizi and the Louvre in there,’ said Larry.

  ‘Weren’t you terrified?’ said Tracey.

  ‘No, not at all; not even by the Duchess. She was so friendly and – well – un-grand.’

  ‘Why on earth should she be?’ snapped Cable. ‘She was only some two-bit actress before she married the Duke. She’s really as common as muck.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ said Nicky. ‘She comes from a perfectly respectable family. Did they seem keen on each other?’

  ‘Oh yes, and Braganzi’s amazing. He knows everything. He knew all about . . .’ She was about to say ‘last night’, but she didn’t know how much Matt had told Cable about their skirmish with the guards. ‘He seems to know who we all are,’ she added lamely. Matt came over, warming a large glass of brandy with his hands.

  ‘Have a breath of that, sweetheart, and tell me all about it.’

  ‘I’d like one too,’ said Larry.

  Imogen took the glass from Matt. ‘Thanks awfully,’ she stammered. ‘And, oh Matt, Braganzi’s promised to give you an interview.’

  ‘I’ve just bought you three,’ Matt was saying to Larry. Then he double-took. ‘He what?’ he said, his voice like a pistol shot.

  ‘He’s agreed to give you an interview. You’re to go up there tomorrow at ten o’clock.’

  ‘You’re having me on,’ he said incredulously.

  ‘No, truly I’m not; and Larry can go too and take some pictures.’

  ‘Holy Mother, you’re a genius. How the hell did you swing that?’

  ‘I asked him. The only condition is he wants to see copy.’

  ‘That’s all right. So should I, if I were in his shoes. Baby, you really are a beautiful, beautiful thing,’ and he leant forward and kissed her on both cheeks. And this time she didn’t even bother to say ‘Down, boy’ to the surge of happiness. She just revelled in how delighted and overwhelmed he was by the news.

  ‘Can’t I come and take pictures instead of Gilmore?’ said Nicky. ‘I’d love a crack at the Duchess.’

  Imogen giggled. ‘She thinks you’re beautiful too.’

  ‘She’s heard of me?’ said Nicky in surprise.

  ‘Yes. They are capable occasionally of watching television, the Upper Classes. Some of the brighter ones can even read. Now, who’s going to buy me a drink?’ said Larry.

  ‘No one,’ said Matt firmly. ‘You’re having some coffee to sober you up, or your hand’ll be shaking far too much to hold a camera straight.’

  ‘I shall be caught with my Nikkons down yet again,’ said Larry. ‘Just a small brandy wouldn’t hurt.’

  Cable got to her feet. ‘Now that she’s finally deigned to show up,’ she said, shooting a venomous glance in Imogen’s direction, ‘can we please move on to somewhere slightly more exciting?’

  Matt got the envelope of cuttings out of his back pocket and threw them on the table. ‘You can if you want. I’ve got to read this lot. Now sit yourself down, Imogen my darling girl,’ he patted the seat beside him, ‘and if you’re not too tired, would you tell me from the rescue onwards exactly what happened?’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Imogen woke late the next morning to another blazing hot day. Through the open window she could see a few little white clouds ermining the serene morning-glory blue of the sky. She lay for a minute reflecting on the extraordinary events of the past forty-eight hours; first Matt transforming her in St Tropez, then meeting Antoine, who was pretty bizarre by any standards, then being threatened by Braganzi’s guards, Matt kissing her good-night and warning her off next morning, then her rescuing little Ricky, finding Nicky and Cable in bed and finally meeting Braganzi and the Duchess. Live a little, get some experience, Matt had said. Well, she’d certainly made a start. Yet, as she gazed at her smooth brown face in the mirror, she looked as young and as round-eyed as ever. She looked at the purple aster wilting in the diary and sighed.

  She’d just got dressed and was wondering how Matt and Larry were getting on with Braganzi when there was a knock on the door. It was Tracey, wondering if she was ready to come down to the beach.

  ‘It’s awfully hot,’ she said, as they wandered along the front. ‘Even a T-shirt feels like a fur coat.’

  ‘Did Larry get off all right this morning?’

  ‘Yes, but he was feeling very poorly. I’ve never known a guy knock it back like he does. That Cable’s a crosspatch, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes,’ sighed Imogen.

  ‘I dreamt all my teeth fell out last night,’ said Tracey. ‘Isn’t it supposed to mean something?’

  ‘Probably that you’re worried about all your teeth falling out,’ said Imogen.

  She noticed that even the brownest and most blasé Frenchmen sat up, pulled in their stomachs and took notice as Tracey undulated past, her silver waterfall of hair glinting in the sun. This was going to make Cable even crosser.

  They found Yvonne and James parked in the middle of the beach. Yvonne was grumbling away under the cardboard nose shield, looking like a malignant goose.

  ‘Hullo. Did you sleep well? I certainly didn’t. Far too hot. I couldn’t sleep a wink, and what’s more I had this terrible nightmare about a jellyfish, and when I woke up I found this huge mosquito bite, and then the water in the shower was cold this morning.’

  ‘How did you get on last night, Imogen?’ said James, who’d brightened perceptibly at the sight of them. ‘I was worried Braganzi might have turned you into a Pattie Hearst.’

  ‘It was all frightfully exciting,’ said Tracey, laying out a large green towel. ‘Go on, tell them, Imogen.’

  Imogen’s account of the events of last night, however, was slightly overshadowed by the counter-attraction of Tracey stripping down to the bottom half of a leopardskin bikini.

  James, who was oiling Yvonne’s back, stopped in mid-stroke, his eyes falling out with excitement. Every Frenchman within 200 yards appeared similarly affected.

  ‘Get on James,’ said Yvonne, chattering with disapproval. ‘And do lie down, Tracey, and don’t draw attention to yourself. Go on, Imogen. How had the Duchess done up the lounge?’

  ‘Oh, in pale blue silk,’ said Imogen, still not feeli
ng her audience was really captive, particularly as Tracey started to oil herself all over.

  ‘That’ll keep out the ultra-violent rays,’ she said.

  Twenty minutes later, by which time every man on the beach seemed to have made a detour past their little group to walk down to bathe, and then return flexing his muscles and dripping water all over them, Yvonne could bear it no longer. ‘You’ll burn, you know, Tracey. You really ought to cover yourself up, and those – er – bits burn much the worst.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Tracey, getting to her feet. ‘I think I’ll go and swim.’

  ‘Well, on your head be it,’ snapped Yvonne.

  ‘It’s not my ’ead it’ll be on,’ giggled Tracey, and she tripped off down to the sea, followed at a very indiscreet interval by a tidal wave of Frenchmen.

  ‘I’m going to swim too,’ said James and, before Yvonne could stop him, bounded off down the beach.

  ‘It’s disgusting the way she flaunts her bosoms,’ spluttered Yvonne.

  ‘Well, they rather flaunt themselves,’ said Imogen.

  ‘Such a bad example for James, particularly Larry turning up with her. I wondered if she knows he’s married.’

  Imogen buried her face in the Bodley Head Scott Fitzgerald. She had given up Tristram Shandy.

  ‘She’s bound to burn,’ grumbled Yvonne, adjusting her cardboard beak. ‘People simply don’t realise you have to take it slowly in this heat. That’s why I never burn.’ On she moaned, until Imogen was quite glad to see Cable and Nicky walking towards them. She supposed, with Matt gone off to see Braganzi, they’d taken the opportunity to spend a couple of hours in bed – and both got out of the wrong side of it, judging by the set sullen expressions on their faces.

  ‘Good morning,’ said Yvonne, cheering up at the sight of Cable’s sulkiness.

  ‘What’s good about it?’ snapped Cable, throwing her flattened lilo down on the ground. ‘Will you blow it up for me, Nicky?’

  He shot her a look which plainly said – Blow the bloody thing up yourself – then thought better of it and crouched down by the lilo, muttering under his breath.

  ‘I hear Matt’s gone to see Braganzi,’ said Yvonne to Cable. ‘You must be delighted for him.’

  ‘I am not! A fine holiday I’m having, with him wasting his time running after silly stories. He’d gone by nine o’clock this morning, and that’ll be the last I’ll see of him today most likely. He’s bound to be up half the night writing the beastly thing. He even asked me to find him a typewriter. I ask you, in a god-forsaken place like this. It’s getting more and more like Margate,’ she added, glaring round the beach. Then, turning to Nicky, who’d nearly finished blowing up the lilo, ‘Why don’t we push off to St Trop for the day?’

  ‘No,’ said Nicky, suddenly catching sight of Tracey frolicking around in the shallows with James, ‘we haven’t got a car.’

  ‘Well, let’s hire one,’ said Cable imperiously, following Nicky’s glance.

  ‘Too much hassle,’ snapped Nicky, corking up the lilo and laying it at Cable’s feet. ‘And it’s far too hot to drive.’ Cable’s green eyes flashed.

  It was getting too hot right here, thought Imogen. ‘I’m going to swim,’ she announced, setting off towards the sea.

  ‘So am I,’ said Nicky, hastily following her. ‘You’re looking very choice today, my darling. Let’s get out of the line of fire.’

  ‘We’re over here,’ Tracey called to them, waving frantically, her long blonde hair trailing in the green water like a mermaid’s. ‘It’s lovely. And how are you this morning, Nicky?’

  ‘Admiring you breasting the waves,’ said Nicky, ‘or rather waving the breasts.’

  They all laughed, and splashed around. Then Nicky did his spectacular flashy crawl out to the raft and back.

  ‘Oh, I wish I could swim like that,’ said Tracey.

  ‘I’ll teach you,’ said Nicky. ‘Just rest your stomach on my hands, now move one arm like this, and put your head down.’

  Tracey emerged giggling and spluttering. ‘I wouldn’t call that my tummy,’ she said.

  ‘Oh well, give or take a few inches,’ said Nicky, smiling down at her. Suddenly they stopped laughing and just gazed at each other. Oh my goodness, thought Imogen, nervous but pleased as well, what will Cable say?

  ‘Come on, Imogen,’ said James with a jolly laugh. ‘I’ll give you a swimming lesson too. Ouch,’ he squeaked as he stepped forward, ‘I feel a prick.’

  ‘Again,’ said Nicky.

  And they all collapsed into giggles again, which was all in all not the sort of behaviour to improve either Cable’s or Yvonne’s tempers.

  When they finally came out of the water, Yvonne promptly sent James off to the café to get her some lemonade.

  ‘Can you get me a vodka and tonic with ice and lemon?’ said Cable.

  ‘I’ll come and help you,’ said Nicky. ‘I could do with a snifter myself.’

  ‘Don’t forget to make the tonic Slimline,’ Cable called after him.

  Yvonne turned her attention to Tracey, who was sitting up combing the tangles out of her hair.

  ‘My dear, have you known Larry long?’

  ‘Not very.’

  ‘Well, there’s something about him I feel you really ought to know. May I be frank with you? He is married.’

  ‘Oh, is he?’ said Tracey, quite unmoved. ‘Is she nice?’

  ‘Very, evidently,’ said Yvonne. ‘And they’ve been happily married for seventeen years.’

  ‘Well, I expect he needs a holiday from her then,’ said Tracey. ‘Then he’ll go home all the keener.’

  ‘But put yourself in his wife’s place,’ said Yvonne. ‘How d’you think she feels at this moment, abandoned in Islington with the children, while you sun yourself on the Côte d’Azure at her husband’s expense?’

  A shadow fell over Imogen’s book. She looked up and jumped as she saw Larry, a camera hanging from his neck. He put his finger to his lips.

  ‘My dear,’ said Yvonne, warming to her subject, ‘don’t you realise how physical men are? It’s so easy for them to be led astray by the sight of a pretty face. If I encouraged them, I could have hundreds of men and husbands running after me, but it wouldn’t be fair. Men are so animal. It’s up to us girls to take a stand.’

  Larry had crept round to Yvonne, and the next moment he was growling furiously into her ear, making her jump so much she fell off her lilo.

  ‘How dare you?’ she screamed.

  ‘Bow wow,’ growled Larry. ‘Bow wow. I’m an animal being led astray by a pretty face. Bow wow. That nose does suit you, I can’t think why you ever take it off,’ and picking up his camera he took a succession of quick snaps of her.

  ‘Put that thing away,’ squealed Yvonne, furiously tearing off her nose.

  ‘Well, stop brain-washing Tracey then. Not that there’s a lot of brain to wash.’

  ‘Hullo Larry,’ said Nicky, returning with James, a trayful of drinks and a cornet with two strawberry spheres of ice cream spilling out of the top. ‘How did you get on?’

  ‘Fantastic,’ said Larry, seizing Cable’s vodka and tonic and draining half of it in one gulp. ‘What a pad they’ve got up there! It’s a tragedy we couldn’t use colour.’

  ‘How was the Duchess?’ said James.

  ‘Sensational! Christ, what a beautiful woman. I’ve just been to Marseilles airport and put four rolls of film on a plane to London.’

  ‘Where’s Matt?’ said Cable.

  ‘Still up there, getting on like a château on fire. Braganzi’s being amazingly free and frank.’

  ‘He can afford to be if he’s going to see copy,’ snapped Cable. ‘You might leave me some of my drink, Gilmore.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, darling,’ said Larry, finishing it. ‘I’ll get us both another one in a minute.’

  ‘Ugh,’ said Yvonne. ‘You’re dripping ice cream all over me. Who’s it for?’

  ‘Tracey,’ said Nicky, handing it to her. ‘Somehow its st
ructure reminded me of her.’

  ‘Do you mind?’ giggled Tracey. ‘Ta awfully, Nicky.’

  ‘I’m going to swim,’ said Cable, tucking her black hair into a yellow turban. ‘Are you coming, Nicky?’

  For a minute they glared at each other, then he laughed and said all right, and, putting an arm round her shoulders, walked down to the beach with her.

  ‘I’m going too,’ said Yvonne, still obviously put out by Larry’s presence.

  Larry took off his shirt and trousers. Underneath he was wearing black bathing trunks. He had a muscular well-shaped body, already very brown. The Man-Tan, as Tracey had pointed out, had striped his legs. He laughed when he caught Imogen staring at him.

  ‘It’s terribly difficult to put on over hairy legs,’ he said, sitting down beside her. ‘It’s a great story you got Matt, you know, and you certainly made a hit with Braganzi and the Duchess. They’ve been singing your praises all morning. Weren’t your ears burning?’

  ‘No, but my boobs are,’ interrupted Tracey, rolling over on her front and picking up Imogen’s book.

  Larry looked out to sea at Cable and Nicky who had reached the raft, clambered on to it and were plainly having some kind of argument.

  ‘Cable’s being poisonous to that nice tennis player,’ he said in his slow voice. ‘He must be her latest.’

  ‘Oh, they’ve been flirting a bit,’ said James. ‘Jolly pretty girl, but a bit of a handful. Suppose I’m one of the lucky ones,’ he said, blowing bubbles into his drink with a straw. ‘Old Yvonne’s never really looked at another man.’

  ‘I’m one of the lucky ones too,’ drawled Gilmore. ‘Another man’s never looked at old Bambi.’

  That’s not right, thought Imogen quickly; both Matt and Cable said she was very attractive.

  Larry drained Cable’s drink. ‘Who’s for a refill?’ he said. ‘What are you having, James?’

  ‘Vodka and pineapple,’ said James. ‘I’m getting quite addicted to it. But for God’s sake don’t tell Yvonne.’

  ‘And what about you, Tracey?’

  ‘I’m all right for a bit,’ said Tracey, licking her ice cream, and still engrossed in Imogen’s Scott Fitzgerald. She glanced at the jacket. ‘She writes rather well, this Bodley Head. Has she written lots of other books?’