Something Stupid

by Victoria Corby

  He pulled savagely at the collar of his shirt, as if despite being open it was strangling him. ‘There,’ he hissed, ‘behind you. You are on guard for them?’

  I turned around slowly and scanned the room. Right at the end, on a sofa flanking one of the long windows, sat Cressida and James, deep in conversation. Her head was lifted to look into his face; he wasn’t touching her, but his body was bowed protectively towards her as he listened with complete attention to what she had to say.

  ‘Certainly not,’ I snapped, heart sinking.

  My tone must have convinced him of something for he took a long shaky breath then said incredulously, ‘You do not mind that James, your boyfriend, is making up to my wife in front of you?’

  ‘They’re just talking, in full view of several other people. What harm can there be in that?’ I said uneasily, for though they could easily be seen by every­one in the room they were locked in their own little bubble of privacy, oblivious to anyone or anything else. What the hell did James think he was up to? He’d behaved himself so well last night, you wouldn’t have had a clue from the way he’d been acting that Cressida was anything more than an old friend, and now he was well on the way to blowing the whole thing. I couldn’t think what had got into Stefano either. Earlier on he had been, if not positively benign, at least neutral in his attitude towards James. I’d begun to hope he was finally con­vinced that James had no intention of laying his wife. From his expression now you would have thought James was doing just that, and selling tickets to spectators. Even if something in that fax had put him on edge, it looked as if it was now up to me to get him back on an even keel.

  I licked my lips. ‘I expect they’re just talking about your statuette. James was really interested to hear the story about the original.’ As a consolatory measure it failed completely.

  If possible Stefano went even more rigid then said in a voice of the deepest contempt, ‘Do you really believe that?’

  ‘Well, no,’ I admitted. I took a good swig of my Bloody Mary, concentrating on the welcome feeling of alcohol hitting my stomach. It gave me a badly needed illusion of courage. ‘They’re probably just going over old times, which is perfectly natural.’ I lifted my eyes to look at him. ‘Personally I’d rather they had never been involved, but neither of us can alter history. I don’t think there’s anything more to it. Cressida’s in love with you,’ a funny expression crossed Stefano’s face at this, ‘and though I’ll admit that James isn’t in love with me, I’m more than just any other girlfriend whom he can love and leave with impunity. He’s not going to muck me around, not if he’s got any sense. You’ve met Aunt Jane, and there are plenty more like her in the family.’ Stefano looked horror-struck as he contemplated this awful prospect. To my relief his hunched shoulders were beginning to drop.

  I laid one hand on his arm. ‘Look, Stefano, you don’t seriously think I’d have come here if I didn’t believe James utterly when he says that all he feels for Cressida is friendship? Believe me, I’m not into the sort of humiliation that involves seeing your boyfriend slavering over his ex in front of you.’

  Stefano smiled mirthlessly. ‘Aren’t you? I wonder then if you have ever been really in love, Laura. If you love someone enough, you will go anywhere, watch them do anything, just for a chance to hold on to them.’

  ‘Not me,’ I said firmly, uneasily aware that some of my behaviour towards Daniel wouldn’t stand too close a scrutiny in that particular area. ‘James and I don’t have that sort of relationship.’

  ‘I am surprised you and James have any sort of rela­tionship.’ Stefano pronounced the word with distaste. ‘Even that wet fish there,’ he flapped his hand vaguely in the direction of Arabella’s boyfriend, ‘has some cord of desire that binds him to a woman, though in his case it is not powerful, maybe because she is more of a man than him. With a couple like you and James, he should be wanting you with him at all times, he should be wanting to take you into corners, he should want you in his bed, he should be thinking about what he wants to do with you, to you, every hour, every minute of the day. That is what a man does with his woman. I do not see that in him.’

  ‘We’re British, we’re very private,’ I protested feebly, rocked by the intensity of what he had been saying. I felt a tingle go down my spine at the very thought. Gosh, it would be exciting to have a lover like that, if perhaps a little tiring.

  ‘That is not being private, that is being frozen,’ Stefano informed me pityingly.

  I was heartily glad that his attention was on me and not the little tableau down the other end of the room for James’s body language was anything but frozen as he leaned forward to say something to Cressida. I wasn’t the only person to have noticed for Cressida’s sister, the one with tired eyes, touched her husband’s arm and they both looked towards the window seat. The sister whispered something then advanced purposefully, ready to break up what she saw as a dangerous and indiscreet situation. Actually I was getting pretty annoyed myself. I didn’t care if James and Cressida were making plans to elope or simply having an in-depth discussion of the weather, whatever it was they should do it in a way that wasn’t calculated to bring out the jealous beast in her husband. A beast that it seemed to have fallen to me to tame, and receive little homilies into the bargain. I’d come here as James’s girlfriend, albeit a pretend one, not as a large gooseberry, and he should be damn well playing his part with a bit more verve and conviction.

  Stefano raised his eyebrows. ‘Perhaps you do not have so much of that English cool after all. You look positively Latin at this moment.’ He was still smiling to himself as he turned away to talk to another of his guests.

  The magisterial butler appeared to announce lunch and we all filed into the dining room where the table, denuded of several of its leaves and laid for a mere ten, stood looking rather small in the middle of the huge room.

  Since I was put on the opposite side of the table, I didn’t get a chance to speak to James until after lunch when Cressida, proving that under her fragile loveliness there beat the heart of a true Englishwoman, declared that even if it was drizzling slightly we must all go out for a walk. Even so it wasn’t for a good twenty minutes that I got him to myself. Cressida had quite reasonably balked at the mire in the fields so we were parading decorously around the gravel paths in the grounds, which heaven knows took us far enough for all but the most dedicated of walking enthusiasts. We were in a tight group, no stragglers had lagged behind or braver spirits gone on ahead, though Stefano hadn’t even made it as far as the starting gate. He declared firmly that walking in the damp and cold was a peculiar English aberration he didn’t intend to share and that he would get far more pleasure from observing our peregrinations from his office windows. Maybe it was this not so subtle hint that he was watching that made Cressida’s sisters and brothers-in-law determinedly hang on in there, despite at least two debilitating hangovers. I could have told them that their sacrifice was for nothing since I was going to make sure myself that James didn’t have a chance to have another tête-à-tête with his hostess. I stuck to his side like glue, even when he started discussing the finances of arable farming with Portia, the eldest sister. At last she must have decided she could safely leave him with me, even though I was half comatose with boredom by now, and walked on ahead, saying that she needed to talk to Viola and Cressida about their brother’s birthday present. I smothered a yawn and said to James, ‘All she’s got to do is choose something from one of those catalogues that come in plain brown wrappers,’ then exclaimed in a tone of artificial surprise, ‘Oh, look! Aren’t those pretty?’ I stopped to peer at a rustic bank where two semi-circular seats were artfully placed so that visitors could enjoy the view at leisure - on a day when the clouds were slightly higher above the horizon.

  James obediently stopped and looked without discern­ible astonishment at snowdrops in February. ‘So what’s all this about then?’ he asked, raising his brows. ‘What’s with the sudden interest in horticulture?’

&
nbsp; I made a face and looked on ahead. The party had separated out, Cressida and Arabella in front, no doubt discussing personal fulfilment, the boyfriend close behind, every dragging step proclaiming that lunch, something to drink and a walk hadn’t made much of an improvement in his condition, the sisters and husbands forming a protective cordon behind. It was too cold to stay still, so digging my hands in my pockets, I walked on as slowly as I could, giving the others a chance to vanish into the shrubbery. Then I told James what the matter was. I tried to be reasonable and measured about it, but simmering resentment over his lack of discretion and how he’d left me open to that disturbing speech from Stefano suddenly boiled over. I may not have red hair like my sister but I’ve got the temper that goes with it, in spades. James’s isn’t too even either.

  ‘For God’s sake, Laura, be reasonable,’ he said after a couple of minutes during which we’d exchanged free and frank opinions on each other’s character. ‘All I was doing was talking to her in a room full of people. What harm was there in that?’ From the slightly shifty look in his eyes he knew very well. ‘She wanted to talk to me, she’s not very happy at the moment.’

  ‘And she was testing the water to see if she could go back to where she was two years ago?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said stiffly.

  I made an unconvinced noise.

  He wheeled around and grabbed my shoulders as if he was about to shake me. ‘She’s got a few problems and needs a sympathetic ear.’

  ‘So she chose the man she dumped to act as marriage counsellor? And in front of her husband too? You’ve got to be out of your mind, James! You were supposed to be convincing Stefano you were far too content in your personal life even to give Cressida a second glance, not imply that, given half a chance, you’d run off with her. I might as well be your real sister for all the attention you’ve paid me.’

  James drew in a deep breath and his look sharpened. ‘Is that the problem?’ he asked softly. ‘You’re feeling ignored?’

  He was standing close before me, too close for me to glare at him comfortably. I backed up a step and met a high ornamental box hedge. He had hit the nail uncom­fortably close to the head, but I’d see him in Hades before I’d admit it. I licked my lips and said, ‘No, I’m just fed up of doing my best to convince Stefano we’re having a rip roaring affair when you aren’t bothering to pretend that you fancy me rotten - or even fancy me at all. It makes me look a complete dork, like one of those frus­trated spinsters who have to enliven a non-existent sex life by fantasising.’

  ‘How do you suggest I indicate to all and sundry that we have the sort of sex life that brings down the ceiling?’ he asked a touch sulkily. I had a feeling I’d struck a nerve there. Maybe he’d thought everyone would automatically assume it. ‘Pant enthusiastically every so often while I dive my hand down your bodice?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’ But even looking at my bodice occasionally with some show of appreciation would be an improvement. ‘Stefano says you lack passion,’ I informed him, perhaps a tad unwisely.

  ‘The Devil he does!’ exclaimed James. ‘And what other nuggets of wisdom did he pass on to you to get you so worked up?’

  Even more unwisely, for I was still suffering from vestiges of bad temper, I told him.

  James laughed.

  I could have hit him.

  Then he said in a tight voice that showed he didn’t think Stefano’s comments on his lacklustre performance nearly so funny as he pretended, ‘So I should be taking you into corners? I should be fondling you, tumbling you, generally making a spectacle of myself and frighten­ing the horses into the bargain. Well, we can certainly do that if that’s what you want.’

  ‘It isn’t!’ I said quickly.

  James smiled, in a more friendly fashion this time. He put his hands on my shoulders and looked down into my face. ‘But, Laura, this is a golden opportunity. You said yourself we’ve been falling down in the acting depart­ment.’ We? ‘And here we are, right under the house. If Stefano lifts his head from his desk he can’t fail to see us. You’re so right, we need to give him an Oscar-winning display.’

  My first reaction was to tell him, no way, buster, on your bike, etc, etc. Actually it was panic, putting it into words came later. My second reaction was that I’d wanted a tussle with James since I was fifteen and this was the first time I’d even got close. So who cared what moti­vated him to pounce? I’d still have the chance to see to what degree my fifteen-year-old fantasies had been wildly overinflated. ‘OK.’ I lifted my head and pursed my lips. ‘Earn your Oscar.’

  James looked startled, then to my relief a look of enthusiasm lit his face. About three minutes later I had to come up for air. My heart rate wasn’t making it any easier to breathe. I was pressed up against the hedge, only James’s arm around my back was preventing me from collaps­ing into it altogether. ‘Well?’ he asked a bit raggedly, brushing a bit of hedge out of my hair. ‘Did the Academy give me the vote?’

  I couldn’t think what he was talking about. ‘I don’t know,’ I said vaguely. I was too busy thinking that my fifteen-year-old fantasies had been quite wrong. They were far too innocent.

  ‘You don’t know?’ he echoed indignantly. I tried, not very hard, to stop him from helping me make up my mind. It was just as good the second time round. This man was a seriously good kisser, I decided as at long last it had to end. I had my arms wrapped around his neck, and was pressed as close to him as was possible without actually melding into him. It left me in no doubt either that, right now at any rate, he was harbouring some very unbrotherly feelings towards me.

  ‘You get the vote,’ I said, smiling up at him.

  ‘Thank you. I rather thought I should have got it first time round,’ he said complacently, linking his hands around the small of my back and pulling my hips towards him. I stood enjoying the feeling for a moment then pulled away. James held on for a second then let me go and stood looking down with a pleasingly disappointed air.

  ‘Well, we certainly gave Stefano something to think about there,’ I said cheerily, swiping a leaf off my coat, ‘though perhaps any more would be rubbing his nose in it somewhat.’ Actually any more would be downright porno­graphic. As they say in soppy romantic novels, there were bits of me quivering that I had never known could quiver, that I’d never even realised could feel anything at all, especially as the result of a mere kiss. But I knew James too well to want - no, amend ‘want’ to ‘be prepared for’ - more. His expertise at pressing the right buttons came from long practice, and I had no wish to join the line of willing victims. Also, though embarrassingly I seemed to have forgotten about it until now, I had a boyfriend of my own, a current one who was a fairly dab hand at pressing buttons too - when he got around to thinking about them. At the risk of sounding sanctimonious I don’t muck around with more than one man at a time - not that I’ve often been given the chance.

  To my chagrin James didn’t try to make me change my mind. He said, ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ in a tone that suggested I was going to be the loser.

  If I hadn’t thought Stefano might be watching I’d have walked off in a huff.

  CHAPTER 8

  Needless to say James wheedled me into agree­ing I wouldn’t tell the whole world straight away that I had metaphorically cast his dust off my shoes. As he said, quite reasonably, Stefano hadn’t absolutely refused to do business with him, though he admitted the chances weren’t high. Still, if I cared at all about my poor old mother continuing to receive her maintenance it wouldn’t be a good idea to let Stefano know that our affair had fizzled out suspiciously quickly. This last was the most convincing argument. Not that I don’t care for my poor old mother - who would personally disem­bowel anyone who used those adjectives about her, but I’d already learned quite enough about Stefano to be wary of getting on his bad side. So I agreed we could maintain our fiction of being ‘good friends’ for a bit longer. I rather enjoyed the refreshing change of spending the odd evening in the company of someone
who concentrated on me rather than his art. It had absolutely nothing to do with the possibility that sometime it might be necessary to put on another display of unbridled lust. When it’s acting and in a good cause it doesn’t count as being unfaithful.

  I can’t say that as we left Stefano was particularly assiduous in echoing Cressida’s entreaties for us to come and stay again, but he certainly didn’t look disapproving when she asked for my telephone numbers at work and at home. She thought she would be coming up to London soon and said we must meet for lunch.

  I didn’t expect to hear from her. I reckoned Cressida was the sort of person who extends an impartial friendli­ness to nearly everyone but unless she’s reminded by someone won’t do anything to fulfil half-meant promises. In any case I was too busy trying to field the curiosity of my family over exactly what I’d been doing ‘wrapped around James’ as Aunt Jane had so succinctly described it. I tried putting out the ‘good friends’ line, but that didn’t wash very well. ‘Come on, love, you know quite well you’ve never been good friends with James,’ pointed out his brother Harry, who thought there was more chance of getting all the hot goss out of me rather than his close-­mouthed sibling. For once he was wrong.

  ‘Pull the other one!’ advised my sister Katie. ‘You’ve been waiting to get your hands on that man for years.’

  It was embarrassing how many people seemed to know of the teenage crush I thought I’d hidden so well, and positively mortifying that no one, but no one, thought fit to say that James had been nurturing a secret passion for me over the years. I favoured Katie with the whole story - well, I left out the clinch; she found our sharing a room highly funny, much more than I had. ‘You must have thought all your Sundays had come at once.’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ I said primly. ‘I’m going out with Daniel, remember?’

  ‘So you are,’ she said in a disparaging tone. She’d said Daniel’s book was ‘trite, full of clever tricks designed to impress’. I suppose she’s entitled to give an opinion; she’s the only person I know who’s actually read the whole of Ulysses. Has done twice in fact. ‘No reason why that should stop you road testing another model, though.’