by Cooper Jilly
‘Depends what you mean by old-fashioned — prunes and prisms Victorian or Nell Gwyn?’
He took my hand.
He’s drunk, I said to myself firmly, trying not to faint with excitement.
‘You’re like a little Renoir,’ he said.
‘Are those the outsize ones, all grapes and rippling with flesh?’ I said.
‘No, that’s Rubens. Renoirs are soft and blonde and blue-eyed, with pink flesh tones. It’s funny,’ he added, shooting me an Exocet look, ‘you’re not my type at all, but you excite the hell out of me.’
I looked down, and to my horror, saw that my fingers were coiling around his, and watched my only unbitten nail gouging into the centre of his palm.
Then suddenly I felt his fingers on my engagement ring.
I tried to jerk my hand away, but he held on to it, and examined the ring carefully.
‘Who gave that to you?’ he said.
‘Cedric,’ I said. ‘My — er — fiancé. It’s a terrible word, isn’t it?’ I gave a miserable, insincere little giggle.
‘It’s a terrible ring, too,’ he said.
‘It cost a lot of money,’ I said defensively.
‘Why isn’t he here?’
I explained about Cedric being in Norfolk and furthering his political career.
‘How long have you been engaged?’
‘Nearly eighteen months.’
The smile Rory Balniel gave me wasn’t at all pleasant. ‘Does he make love on all four channels?’ he said.
I tried, but failed, to look affronted. ‘He doesn’t make love to me much at all,’ I muttered.
Rory Balniel was swinging the empty whisky bottle between finger and thumb.
‘He doesn’t care about you at all, does he?’
‘Cedric and I have a good thing going.’
‘If you’re mad about a girl, you don’t let her out of your sight.’
Instinctively my eyes slid to Tiffany, who was now sleeping peacefully, her head on the blonde girl’s shoulder.
‘I’m not exactly mad about her,’ he said.
‘She’s stunning looking,’ I said, wistfully.
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘Rolls-Royce body maybe, but a Purley mind.’
I giggled again. Suddenly he bent his head and kissed my bare shoulder. I could feel the ripples of excitement all the way down to my toes. Any moment my dress, safety pins and all, was going to burst into flames. I could have died with excitement.
I took a deep breath. ‘I’ve got a bottle of whisky at home,’ I said.
‘Well, let’s go then,’ he said.
Chapter Two
I wasn’t proud of my behaviour. I knew I was treating Cedric abominably, but then I’d never before in my life encountered such a personification of temptation as Rory Balniel. And, like Oscar Wilde, I’ve always been able to resist anything except temptation.
We wandered along the King’s Road, trying to find a taxi, and giggling a great deal as we tried out all the baths sitting outside the bath shop. Then we passed an art gallery. Rory peered moodily through the window at the paintings.
‘Look at that crap,’ he said. ‘There but for the gracelessness of God go I, the greatest genius of the twentieth century — which reminds me, I’ve got to see a man about my painting at eleven tomorrow. You’d better set your alarm clock when we get home.’
Presumptuous, I thought. Does he think I’ll succumb so easily?
Rory suddenly saw a taxi and flagged it down. We kissed all the way home.
God — I was enjoying myself. I’d never felt a millionth of that raging, abandoned glory, the whole time I’d known Cedric. As the taxi chugged along, and the orange numbers on the meter rocketed relentlessly upwards, so did my temperature. Rory had such a marvellously lean, broad-shouldered body. It must have been something to do with both being an artist and having Gallic blood, but he was certainly an artist at French kissing.
All the same, somewhere inside me, an insistent voice was warning me to call a halt. I was backsliding at the speed of light, doing all the things I’d done before I’d met Cedric, giving in too quickly, losing too quickly and feeling just as insecure and unhappy as I’d been in the past. I’ll say goodbye to him firmly at the door, I told myself. Then when we got to the door I thought: I’ll just give him a very quick drink to be sociable and then out he goes.
No sooner had we entered the flat and I’d given him some whisky, than I rushed off to the bathroom, cleaned my teeth and emptied half a bottle of Nina’s scent over myself. I then went and removed the Georgette Heyer novel from my bedside table and replaced it with a couple of intellectual French novels.
I went into the drawing-room.
‘Where did you learn to pour drinks like this one?’ he asked.
‘I once worked in a bar,’ I replied.
‘This is a septuple,’ said Rory, draining the glass.
‘I’m seeing septuple,’ I said. ‘After all the booze I’ve shipped, I can see at least seven of you at the moment. A magnificent seven, admittedly.’
‘Then we can have a gang-bang,’ said Rory with a whoop. ‘Annie’s orgy is going to materialize after all.’
Primly, I sat down on the sofa. He sat beside me.
‘Well? Orgy on?’ he asked, staring at me, but making no move.
I hunted around nervously for something to say.
‘Keep still,’ he said. ‘You’ve got something in your hair.’
I never knew if I had or I hadn’t. But he removed whatever it was and then, unsmilingly, he came closer and kissed me.
After a while, I had a pang of conscience and tried to push him away. ‘I’ll make some coffee,’ I muttered. ‘Really, I am engaged to Cedric and he wouldn’t approve at all.’
‘Shut up,’ he said gently. Very slowly, he undid all the safety pins holding my dress together — first the one joining the bodice and shoulder-strap, then the little gold pin just below the zip top, and finally the two securing my strapless bra.
Naked to the waist now, I still couldn’t move.
‘Little Renoir,’ he said softly.
Stop! I said to myself, but I couldn’t move.
It was morning when I woke. I hadn’t closed the curtains properly, so the sun seared straight into my eyes like a laser beam. Even more searing was Cedric’s smile — his photograph stared right at me. Frantic with thirst, I reached for the glass by the bed, gulped at it, and nearly threw up. It was whisky.
Inching my hand to the right, I practically went through the ceiling as I encountered a body. Cedric’s. I gave a groan. Cedric was in Norfolk, rallying the faithful. The unfaithful was lying in my bed. I drew back the covers to look at the man beside me. One glance told me I had impeccable taste when I was drunk. And total lack of judgement too, by allowing myself to get laid on the first date.
Slowly piecing the evening together, I looked at the clock. Half past ten. I was supposed to wake him up to see a man about some paintings. I got up and washed. My face looked all blotchy, like garlic sausage, so I slapped on some casual-looking make-up. Then I threw a handful of Alka-Seltzers into a glass of water, waited until the froth subsided, drank it down and went back to bed.
I think Rory was still drunk when I woke him up. He got up, drew the curtains, and then groped for a cigarette.
‘What happened last night?’
‘Oh, Rory,’ I wailed. ‘Don’t you remember anything?’
‘Well, I remember spending a rain-soaked childhood among the sheep in Scotland, and being sacked from Harrow and being sent down from Oxford. I remember coming to London to sell some paintings. After that I think the drink took over. Then there seems to have been a lot of parties.’
‘We were at Annie Richmond’s party,’ I said.
‘So we were.’
‘And we both had quite a bit to drink and then we came back here.’
‘Well, well, well,’ he said, getting into the crumpled bed. ‘And did we?’
�
�Oh, God! Can’t you remember that?’
‘Was I… er… did I perform adequately?’ He didn’t seem embarrassed, only curious.
‘You were absolutely sensational, that’s what makes it so awful,’ I said and, rolling over, I buried my face in the pillow and burst into tears.
He stroked my hair, but I went on sobbing. ‘I’m not usually like this. I don’t just pick up men at parties and leap into bed with them on the first night. At least, not recently,’ I wailed. ‘And you’d better step on it, you’ve got to see that man about your paintings at eleven o’clock.’
‘So I have.’ Slowly he clambered out of bed and started to get dressed. I was shot through with misery, but I tried to make a joke of the situation.
‘Don’t think I’ve enjoyed meeting you, because I haven’t,’ I said with a deliberate sniff.
He laughed, and when he had dressed and cut himself shaving on Nina’s pink plastic razor, he came back into the bedroom and said, ‘You’ll remember exactly what happened last night, won’t you? When I write my memoirs, I’ll need to pick your brains.’
I pulled a pillow over my head. ‘There aren’t any to pick,’ I groaned.
‘See you,’ he said. Then he was gone.
I went through every kind of hell wondering if he’d come back. I castigated myself for the insanity of going to Annie Richmond’s party, for letting Rory make love to me — which, despite his not remembering anything about it, had been an utterly intoxicating experience which would spoil me for Cedric for evermore.
The telephone rang three times, each time for Nina, and each time the caller got his head bitten off for not being Rory. At four o’clock, realizing he wasn’t coming back, I got up, had a bath, cried for an hour and then poured myself a large whisky. Really, I was acquiring a lot of bad habits. I’d be eating between meals soon!
At six o’clock the doorbell rang. Keep calm, I told myself. Play it cool. It’s bound to be the milkman, or some Salvation Army lady after loot.
But it was Rory, swaying in the doorway and looking green. ‘I’ve just been sick in a dustbin,’ he said.
I laughed, trying to keep the joy out of my face. ‘Come in,’ I said.
He headed straight for the whisky. ‘May I have a drink?’ he said. ‘My hangover ought to go down in medical history. Childbirth has nothing on it.’
He had the most awful shakes.
‘There’s a reason for all this drinking,’ he went on. ‘But at the moment, I’m glad to say, I can’t remember what it is. I really oughtn’t to have come back — I’m afraid I’ve run out of money.’
‘I’ve always wanted to keep a man,’ I said. ‘Stick with me, baby, and you’ll be up to your ears in race-horses.’
‘It’s not as bad as that. I got on well at the art gallery.’
‘Did he like your paintings?’ I said.
He nodded. ‘He’s going to give me an exhibition in the spring.’
‘But that’s wonderful,’ I said. ‘You’ll be famous.’
‘I know.’ He peered in the mirror, pushing a lock of black hair out of his eyes. ‘I don’t think it suits me. I feel terrible.’
‘You ought to eat something,’ I said.
‘You’re admirable. I wish I had a mother that fussed over me like that.’
In fact he was very ill all night and most of the next day; delirious and with a raging temperature, pouring with sweat, clinging to me, muttering incoherently and shaking like a puppy. On Sunday night, however, he felt better. Suddenly, picking up Cedric’s photograph, he threw it out of the window.
‘That wasn’t very friendly,’ I said, listening to the tinkle of broken glass.
‘When’s he coming back?’
‘Tomorrow. Cedric’s very good to me. He keeps me on the rails. Before I met him, it was one layabout after another.’
The restless dark eyes travelled over me. ‘That’s because you’re a giver, Emily, and you hate hurting people. You slept with all those men because you couldn’t say no rather than because you wanted to say yes.’
‘Oh, not always. Anyway, there weren’t that many of them — in single figures, that is.’
‘If I rang you up and asked you out,’ he went on, undeterred, ‘even if you didn’t fancy me, you’d say yes because you couldn’t bear to upset me. Then you’d send me a cable at the last moment, or get one of your mates to ring up and say you were dying of food poisoning.’
‘How do you know?’ I said sulkily.
‘I know,’ he said, and pulled me into his arms. The waves of lust were rippling all over me again.
‘You’re ill,’ I protested.
‘Not that ill,’ he said.
‘I like sleeping with you,’ he said, a couple of hours later. ‘Let’s get married.’
I looked at him incredulously, reeling from the shock.
‘You’d better send Cedric a telegram immediately,’ he said. ‘I don’t want him hanging around being a bloody nuisance to us.’
‘Did you say you wanted to marry me?’ I whispered. ‘You can’t want to marry me. I mean, what about all those girls after you? You could marry anyone. Why me?’
‘I’m kinky that way,’ he said. ‘I’ll try anything once.’
‘But where will we live?’ I said, bewildered.
‘In Scotland. I’ve got a place up there. I’m much nicer in Scotland, London does frightful things to me — and I’m due to inherit a bit of money shortly, so we won’t starve.’
‘But… but…’ I stammered. I really wanted him to take me in his arms and say he loved me to distraction, but then the telephone rang.
Rory picked it up. ‘Hullo, who’s that? Oh, Cedric.’ A slightly malicious gleam came into his eyes. ‘We haven’t met. My name’s Balniel, Rory Balniel. How was the political rally? Oh, well that’s splendid. You deserve some compensation because I’m afraid Emily has just agreed to marry me — and she’ll be dispensing with your disservices from now on.’
‘Oh, no,’ I protested. ‘Poor Cedric.’
I could hear him spluttering away on the other end of the telephone.
‘Well I’m afraid you’ve lost your deposit on this one,’ said Rory, and put down the receiver.
‘Cedric will be very, very angry,’ I said in awe.
Chapter Three
Cedric wasn’t the only one who was angry. Annie Richmond was livid, too.
‘You can’t marry Rory, he’s never been faithful to anyone for more than five minutes. He’s immoral and dreadfully spoilt. He even used to cheat at conkers when he was a little boy!’
Nina was even more discouraging. Genuine concern for me combined — when she’d actually met Rory in the flesh — with overwhelming envy.
‘I know he’s lovely to look at, but he’s an absolute devil. You’re batting out of your league. Cedric was far more suitable.’
‘It was you in the first place,’ I said crossly, ‘who was so against Cedric, and hustled me off to Annie Richmond’s party.’
‘I never dreamed you’d go to these extremes. Where are you going to live?’
‘In the Highlands, on an island. It sounds too romantic for words.’
Nina sighed. ‘It is not romantic living on an island. What will you do, except talk to sheep and go mad while he slaps paint on canvases all day? You won’t hold him in a million years. You’ll be thoroughly miserable, and then come and snivel all over me. The only thing a whirlwind courtship does is blow dust in everyone’s eyes.’
I didn’t care. I was hanging from chandeliers, swinging round lamp-posts. I was so deranged with love I didn’t know what to do with myself. I felt I was drowning and I didn’t want anyone to save me.
Another aspect that delighted me was the being married part of the whole thing. I’d never been cut out for a career and the thought that I could chuck in my nine-to-five job and spend the rest of my life looking after Rory filled me with joy. I had fantasies of greeting him at the door, after a hard day at his studio, a beautiful child hanging on each han
d.
Three days later, Rory and I were married at Chelsea Register Office. I had been to see the Renoirs at the Tate, and wore a Laura Ashley dress and a black breton on the back of my head. Even Nina admitted I looked good.
Rory was waiting when we arrived, smoking and gazing moodily at the road. It was the first time I’d seen him in a suit — pale grey velvet with a black shirt.
‘Isn’t he the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen!’ I said rapturously.
‘Yes,’ said Nina. ‘It isn’t too late to change your mind.’
He smiled when he saw us, then his narrowed eyes fixed coldly on my hat. Tearing it from my head, he threw it on the ground and kicked it into the Kings Road, where a milk van ran over it.
‘Don’t you ever dare wear a hat again,’ he said, ruffling my hair.
Then he took my hand and led me into the Register Office.
Afterwards we had a party and drank champagne, and flew to Paris for our honeymoon. When we arrived at our hotel — which was pretty, with shutters, vines and pink geraniums, overlooking the Seine — Rory ordered more champagne.
He was in a strange, wild mood. I wondered how much he’d drunk before he got to the Register Office. I very much wanted him to pounce on me and ravish me at once. I suddenly felt apprehensive, lost and very much alone.
I went off and had a bath. Isn’t that what all brides do? All my things were new — sponge bag, flannel, talcum powder, toothbrush. Even my name was new — Emily Balniel.
I said it over and over to myself as I lay in the bath, with the water not too hot so I wouldn’t emerge like a lobster.
I rubbed scented bath oil into every inch of my body and put on a new white negligée, fantastically expensive and pretty and virginal. I went into the bedroom, and waited for Rory’s gasp of approval. It never came. He was on the telephone, his face ashen.
‘Hullo,’ he was saying. ‘Hullo, yes, it’s me all right. I know it’s been a long time. Where am I? In Paris, at the Reconnaissance. Do you remember the Reconnaissance, darling? I just wanted to tell you that I got married this afternoon, so that makes us level again, doesn’t it?’ And, with a ghastly expression of triumph on his face, he dropped the telephone back in its cradle.
