Wicked!

by Jilly Cooper

  ‘Dad’ll never be proud of me. I failed to pull Jade and why haven’t I got the guts to kill Cosmo?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I can’t help you,’ said Paris.

  55

  Joan and Cambola sang tunes from Ariadne all the way home, putting down the hood of the convertible Joan had hired so they could admire the stars. Dame Hermione had been wonderfully gracious and invited them back to her hotel for a cold supper of chicken gelé, wild berries, white chocolate sauce and Pouilly-Fumé. When Miss Cambola had pointed out Cosmo’s musical genius, Hermione had replied that Cosmo was ‘such a kind boy and very, very sensitive’.

  ‘He gets that from you,’ suggested Cambola.

  ‘Indeed.’ Hermione bowed her head, then, turning her big, brown eyes on an excited Joan: ‘High-spirited maybe, but genius must be untamed.’

  It had been after midnight when they’d left Cardiff and her presence.

  Overhead, Draco the Dragon, not Welsh this time, had been joined by the Swan and the Lyre, on which Joan would have loved to serenade Dame Hermione. Wild honeysuckle and elderflower bashed in the narrow lanes by her car released a sweet yet disturbingly acrid, sexy smell. The night air was a pashmina round their shoulders. The roads were quiet. Joan took Cambola’s hand. They agreed that Skunk and Biffo would have been home hours ago and that Janna was a sensible young woman to leave in charge.

  ‘Janna is like Toscanini,’ mused Cambola, ‘many wrong things, but redeemed by so much passion and vitality.’

  As they drove towards the castle, they heard sounds of revelry by night. Striding down to the pool, Joan’s first reaction was delight to see such charming young women frolicking naked in the pool. But her delight turned to horror when she realized they were not only her girls, but Vicky and Gloria also stripped off and extremely the worse for wear. Vicky was wrapped round Anatole, and Gloria snogging unashamedly in the shallow end with Hermione’s ‘very, very sensitive’ little son, who, when Joan bellowed with rage for everyone to stop, gave her a V-sign.

  Not making a great deal of potential deputy headway, Joan marched inside to be greeted by devastation. Summer pudding had incarnadined the exquisite blue wallpaper, a glazed brown duck carcass had nested in the chandelier. Empty alcoves reproached her. A raspberry pavlova had been rammed, like a custard pie, into the face of a replica of Michelangelo’s David.

  Bellowing with rage, blowing her whistle, crunching on smashed Meissen, Ming and Venetian glass, Joan stormed upstairs to find doors ajar and the beds of Jade, Milly and Amber empty. Primrose Duddon wasn’t in her room either, nor were Kylie, Pearl or Kitten Meadows.

  Red and more fiery than any Welsh dragon, Joan hammered on Janna’s door.

  ‘Kerist’ – Hengist leapt out of bed – ‘it’s that porter from Macbeth again. How time flies when you’re really enjoying yourself.’

  ‘The moon’s gone, get on the balcony,’ hissed Janna, kicking his Prussian-blue shirt and white trousers under the bed.

  Wrapping herself in a towel for a second time that evening, she opened her door an inch and again was nearly concussed as it was thrust open to reveal Joan bellowing like a Herefordshire bull. Hastily, Janna leapt backwards, aware she must reek of Hengist, his fingerprints luminous on her quivering, sated body.

  ‘How could you let this happen? Downstairs has been totally wrecked. Students and teachers are frolicking naked in the pool. None of my students are in their rooms. As duty officer you’re totally to blame.’

  Retreating further from a fountain of spit, Janna mumbled she’d been struck down by migraine.

  ‘The worst ever. I lay down for half an hour before dinner; I must have dropped off.’

  ‘Well, get dressed at once,’ thundered Joan, ‘your students aren’t in their beds either.’

  Turning, Janna caught a glimpse of the rocking horse, hooded like a prisoner by Hengist’s underpants and, fighting laughter, slammed the door and locked it. Equally weak with laughter, Hengist slid in from the balcony.

  ‘Oh dear,’ he sighed, ‘but quite inevitable after segregating them in separate youth hostels all week. I don’t expect they’ve come to much harm. And quite frankly, that was so miraculous, darling, nothing else matters. I suppose I’d better beat it.’

  He was buttoning up his shirt and pausing to kiss Janna, when his mobile rang. It was Joan covering her tracks.

  ‘Sorry to wake you, headmaster, just to alert you that anarchy has broken out at Castle Gafellyn. Janna Curtis was left in charge but deserted her post, claiming a headache. Both Vicky and Gloria are drunk and incapable. Half our students are missing.’

  ‘And where were you and Biffo and Rufus whilst all this was happening?’ asked Hengist icily. ‘You went to the opera in Cardiff?’ After a pause: ‘Biffo and Skunk and Boffin went to some troglodyte caves? Surely that was taking coals to Newcastle? Well, you should all have bloody well been there.’

  Then, after another long pause: ‘Bertie’s an old friend and very reasonable. I’m sure the bracelet will turn up.’ Reaching out for Janna’s pubes, he pulled her towards him, sliding his hand between her legs. ‘Try to limit the damage. You’ve got yourself into this mess; don’t call the police. I’m at Tintern Abbey and over the limit, or I’d drive straight over.’

  Switching off his mobile, he kissed Janna lingeringly.

  ‘I’d better scarper or we’ll both be in trouble. Stick to the migraine story. Joan hasn’t got a hairy leg to stand on.’

  His feet groped around for his loafers.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Back down the secret passage. It comes out at the edge of Hanging Wood quarter of a mile away; my car’s hidden in the trees. I utterly adore you, that was the best fuck I’ve ever had.’

  ‘I feel drunk,’ sighed Janna, ‘and I haven’t had a drop.’

  ‘I’ll call you,’ said Hengist and was gone.

  Groggily, Janna dressed. She couldn’t stop giggling. She was no doubt about to be sacked, but she didn’t care.

  I love Hengist, Hengist loves me and two heads are definitely better in bed than one.

  Joan meanwhile had stepped over a supine Rocky on the landing, located Lando France-Lynch watching polo on Sky and finally tracked down an orgy in Jack Waterlane’s bedroom. Here she found Johnnie Fowler, Monster Norman, Jack, Kylie, Kitten, Junior, Amber, Milly, Cosmo and Anatole, who she’d last seen behaving abominably in the pool, and oh horrors, Primrose Duddon, among the writhing bodies.

  Inspired by an internationally prize-winning installation entitled ‘Shagpile’, which showed models of naked men piled on top of and plugged into each other like Lego, the geography trip participants were trying to create a replica of fornicating bodies.

  ‘Vaitress,’ shouted Anatole, falling off the pile and waving an empty vodka bottle at Joan, ‘can you get us another drink?’

  ‘How dare you?’ thundered Joan.

  ‘Come and join our team-building exercise, miss.’ Johnnie Fowler took a hand off Amber’s left breast and patted the bed.

  ‘Stop it, all of you, what the hell d’you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Don’t swear, miss,’ giggled Kitten from the middle of the pile.

  ‘You told us to overcome traditional animosities and bond with Larks,’ panted Junior, ‘and what better way of doing it?’ He kissed Kitten’s shoulder. ‘You beautiful thing.’

  ‘Help,’ shrieked Kylie, bucking frantically then collapsing on top of Jack, ‘I’m overcoming.’

  ‘Have you seen the state of downstairs?’ yelled Joan. ‘Thousands of pounds’ worth of damage has been done.’

  ‘Not by us,’ chorused Shagpile II.

  Drawing a dick the length of a conger eel out of a glassy-eyed Milly, Cosmo said chattily, ‘Could have been Rocky. He was trashing the place as I passed, probably forgot to take his Ritalin.’

  Downstairs, amid the debris, Cambola had swept earth from the hurled bamboo plant off the piano keys and, armed with a large brandy, was singing along as she picked out
tunes from Ariadne.

  Paris, having shed his shorts earlier, couldn’t find them. Suspecting Cosmo, he nicked a pair marked Anatole Rostov from the Cosmonaughties’ bedroom. Anatole wouldn’t miss them; he’d brought six other pairs. Wandering into the garden, overwhelmed by vodka, despair and loveless sex, Paris passed Joan having a squawking match with Vicky.

  ‘You will certainly lose your job, young lady.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter, I’ve got another one to go to.’

  ‘Don’t be too sure of that.’

  Driven out of Jack’s bedroom, Shagpile II were indulging in another shrieking stint of skinny-dipping. Reaching the pool, Paris stopped in his tracks to find Janna counting heads. As though nothing had happened, she turned and smiled at him.

  ‘Oh, there you are. Are you OK?’

  Paris was about to shout that she was a fucking slag, when he caught sight of a body in the shallow end, deathly pale even in the moonlight, hair streaming, stick legs askew, and realized it was Pearl surrounded by a flickering halo of blood. At first he thought she must have started her period and to save her humiliation looked round for a towel. Then he realized the blood was gushing from her wrists and, leaping into the water, he dragged her to the side. Hoisting her on to the flagstones, he yelled: ‘Quick, she’s cut herself.’

  Janna rushed forward.

  ‘Oh, poor child. Ring for an ambulance.’ Crouching down, she put an ear to Pearl’s chest. ‘She’s breathing, but unconscious, and terribly cold.’

  Miss Cambola came running into the garden. ‘We must make a tourniquet.’ Tearing off her orange and black scarf, she wound it round and round Pearl’s arm. ‘Put your finger on the knot,’ she ordered Paris. Then, turning to Janna: ‘We must get her straight to hospital for a blood transfusion. If we meet the ambulance coming the other way, at least we save time.’

  ‘I’ll drive, I haven’t been drinking,’ said Janna. ‘What the hell happened?’ she asked as a suddenly sobered-up Amber, Junior and Paris helped her and Cambola carry Pearl to Joan’s convertible.

  ‘Fucking Cosmo. Shagged her, texted everyone to say she was a slag, then dumped her by text,’ said Amber.

  Jade, back in her bedroom, was calling her father. ‘Daddy, Daddy, I’m having a horrible time. Paris Alvaston tried to rape me, he came on so strong and I didn’t want to reject him because he’s a yob and Xavier Campbell-Black tried to rape me too. I didn’t want to be unkind, but he was drunk and went at me like an animal. I had to knee him in the balls. And, oh Daddy, someone’s cut off all my hair, I look hideous. Everyone’s drunk; all the teachers are shagging and skinny-dipping.’

  ‘Calm down, princess. Who’s in charge?’

  ‘Joan but she bunked off with Cambola to hear Cosmo’s mum in some opera and Skunk and Biffo went to look at some lousy eclipse and Rufus’s gone home, he thinks his wife’s bunked off.’

  ‘Who’s in charge?’

  ‘Janna, but she bunked off to bed and now she’s taken some girl who’s slashed her wrists to hospital. We’re staying in such a lovely old castle and Rocky’s gone berserk and broken the place up. Everything’s out of control. My diamond bracelet’s been nicked and oh, my hair, Daddy.’

  ‘Did anyone actually rape you, princess?’

  ‘No, but they tried.’

  ‘Go to bed and I’ll fly down and collect you first thing.’

  Stancombe came off the telephone and turned to Rufus’s wife, Sheena, stretched out beside him on black satin sheets.

  ‘Mission accomplished,’ he said triumphantly. ‘There’s no way the blessed Janna and Larks will survive this disaster.’

  ‘The pupils have bonded so well,’ mocked Cosmo as, back in their bedroom, he and Lubemir heated up an electric kettle to light their spliffs on the element, ‘that the teachers felt redundant and soon will be declared so.’

  ‘I wonder how the Lower Sixth are getting on with their tour of the battlefields,’ pondered Lubemir.

  ‘Ought to start by studying the one downstairs,’ said Cosmo.

  Alex and Poppet Bruce had spent the day walking in Wales. They had booked into a nearby hotel but, seeing lights still on in the castle, decided to drop in to see Biffo, Skunk, Joan and dear little Vicky and enjoy some free drink.

  They found Joan in a state of shock. Desperately guarding her position, fulminating to hide her guilt she had been skiving, she whisked them as quickly as possible out into the garden.

  ‘Where are the students?’ asked Alex.

  ‘In their beds.’

  ‘What on earth happened?’ asked Poppet, who loved trouble.

  ‘A young woman, Pearl Smith, slashed her wrists. Janna Curtis has rushed her to Casualty. I’ve been trying to ring Pearl’s emergency contact number in Larkminster, but the telephone appears to be cut off.’

  ‘Why did she try to end her life?’ pressed Poppet.

  ‘Oh, some love affair,’ replied Joan. Dame Hermione would never forgive her if she shopped Cosmo. Anxious to get off the subject: ‘And Jade Stancombe has behaved in a most reprehensible way. She was observed in flagrante with both Paris Alvaston and Xavier Campbell-Black. She must be excluded.’

  Alex Bruce turned pale.

  ‘We can’t exclude Jade. We’d jeopardize our Science Emporium. Stancombe’s been supportive when we’ve fired anyone else’s kids, but he wouldn’t like it if we excluded Jade. We must limit the damage. Don’t call the police or the parents or the ambulance.’

  ‘Janna Curtis insisted on taking Pearl to hospital,’ said Joan.

  ‘Well, I suppose Pearl is her responsibility.’

  At that moment Biffo and Skunk strode in, laughing heartily.

  ‘Alex, Poppet, how good to see you. We’ve seen the most dramatic eclipse,’ said Biffo. Then, lest Alex should think they’d been skiving, he added that they’d taken Boffin, Alex’s favourite pupil with them. ‘He couldn’t believe his eyes. We’ve packed him off to bed. No doubt he’ll debrief you tomorrow, Alex. I could do with a Scotch, couldn’t you, Skunk?’

  Joan was just debriefing them about the last six hours, heaping blame on Janna, when Bertie Wallace, hot from his mistress, walked in, whereupon Joan heaped blame on Rocky.

  ‘Quite an achievement,’ said Bertie, surveying the devastation. ‘Rocky should get a job with the council demolishing old buildings. Fortunately for me, this house is in my wife’s name. I doubt if she’ll be quite so sanguine, but I expect it’s insured.’

  Janna rang Joan from the hospital. Pearl, thank God, was out of danger. They had given her stitches and a blood transfusion. She was conscious and Janna had spoken to her. Then she asked if she could have a quick word with Paris.

  ‘I know he’s worried.’

  Even though it was nearly three a.m., Paris was awake, lying on top of his duvet, gazing at the ceiling. He took the telephone into a deserted bedroom.

  ‘I thought you’d like to know Pearl’s going to be OK and you probably saved her life.’ Then, when Paris didn’t answer: ‘She’s all right, Paris.’

  ‘You’re fucking not.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘If you hadn’t sloped off to bed with a made-up headache and Hengist Fucking Brett-Taylor, none of this would have happened, you dirty bitch.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I saw Hengist at your window, stripped off and flaunting his six-pack, you fucking slag.’

  ‘Oh Paris,’ pleaded Janna in horror, but he had hung up.

  56

  Bagley pupils who’d been on the field trip were gated until the end of term, which was only a few days away. As Dora Belvedon had not been among the participants, it fell to Sheena Anderson to sell the story of ‘Toff School in Mass Orgy’, complete with gory details of skinny-dipping, group sex, trashing of our precious heritage and, finally, of a young woman nearly dying from a suicide attempt.

  The person who carried the can was Janna. She was the only head on the trip, and the catastrophe had occurred when she was in charge.
She had let the maintained sector down. Hengist was very sympathetic to her plight and had bollocked his staff for leaving her exposed, but he was not prepared, ‘for both our sakes, darling’, to reveal his part in distracting Janna during the evening.

  Parents were fortunately mollified by magnificent exam results released in August, in which Bagley, helped no doubt by Cosmo’s leaked papers, had drawn away from St Jimmy’s and edged towards Fleetley.

  Larks did infinitely better than the previous year: up from four per cent to ten per cent of the pupils getting the requisite five A–C grades known as the Magic Five, but they were still near the bottom of the Larkshire league. Any satisfaction was doused by Ashton Douglas’s call.

  ‘Vewy disappointing wesults, Janna. We’ll need a post-mortem on these and the geography field trip.’

  On the credit side, Pearl bounced back quickly – cheered by all the sympathy and by a large bunch of pink roses on Dame Hermione’s account, plus a card from her ‘very sensitive’ little son saying: ‘Sorry, I was a rat. Love, Cosmo.’

  Remembering how she had smashed Janna’s Staffordshire cow, Pearl organized a whip-round from both Bagley and Larks children who’d been on the field trip and raised enough money to buy an even prettier Herefordshire cow from Larkminster Antiques.

  ‘Miss loves cows.’

  ‘She don’t love Chally or Basket or Spink or Joan,’ grumbled Graffi, but he designed a beautiful card, saying ‘You’re a star’ in gold and purple sequins and everyone signed it and wrote fond messages inside apologizing that the trip had gone pear-shaped, but insisting they had had the best time ever, and thanking her for all her kindness.

  Janna, overwhelmed, stroked the spotted red and white cow, and blushed and wept with joy over the card. Only after she’d read it half a dozen times did she notice Paris’s name was missing.

  When asked, Pearl had also blushed. ‘Paris gets funny.’