Chapter Twelve
WOLF ALONE? WE DON’T THINK SO!
screamed the Sun front page, over a picture of Cass Collier arriving at his film premiere accompanied by a posse of glamorous girls. Eugenie noticed the massage girl amongst them, with Twoomy grinning anxiously at the back. Cass Collier, amidst this bevy of beauties, was wearing his familiar, tortured expression.
It wasn’t long before Eugenie’s phone rang.
‘Hi Evie!’
‘Hi Twoomy.’
‘How are you, Evie?’
‘I’m very well, thankyou. How are you?’
‘Good. Good. But Cass was terribly disappointed you couldn’t make it to Wolf Alone last night. The premyaire. I tried to explain you had to go to a book launch, but he didn’t seem to understand.’
‘No.’
‘Anyway, we’re flying back to LA tomorrow and Cass wants you to come with us. All expenses paid, naturally. First class all the way.’
First class all the way was an expression which always amused Eugenie. Did it indicate that there was a possibility that at some point on the flight, if you got stroppy, you might be dumped with the excess baggage in the hold?
‘Cass has a wonderful house in Beverly Hills. You’ll be very comfortable there. He has a pool.’
‘Twoomy, I am a respectable married woman.’ Across the office, Revel was rolling his eyes. ‘It wouldn’t be at all appropriate for me to stay with Cass.’
‘Hold the line, Evie. Don’t run away.’ Eugenie heard voices, muttering. Then, ‘There’s an excellent hotel, Evie, the Beverly Wilshire. Five-star luxury. Cass wants to put you up there.’
‘Twoomy, that’s very generous of Cass, but I have a very sick husband I have to look after.’
More muttering. Another consultation.
‘Evie, Cass says to bring your husband with you. He’ll have the very best of medical care. Cass will arrange day and night nurses.’
‘I’m afraid it’s impossible for him to go anywhere, Twoomy. He’s just come back from China, you see, and he’s picked up some really weird thing. The Hospital for Tropical Diseases are very worried about him, say it looks very contageous.’
Twoomy rang off.
‘What’s wrong with Mr Plantagenet?’ asked Revel.
‘He’s got That Flu.’
‘Not surprised, this filthy weather. And this three-day week business doesn’t make it any easier. Thank God we’re registered as a newspaper, get priority, so we’re allowed to turn the lights on, carry on as usual. It’s the poor sods in the rest of the country I feel sorry for. Running out of candles, matches, torches.’
Eugenie had heard that a lot of the poor sods in the rest of the country were having a whale of a time. University boys were patriotically sharing baths with girls. In offices, people discovered the allure of candlelight, which magically presented their colleagues in a new, flattering glow. A baby-boom was confidently predicted, nine months hence.
But Revel had been right. The miners’ strike, and the three-day week did bring down the government. Edward Heath gambled on a general election, and lost. Harold Wilson returned as Prime Minister, wearing his trademark Gannex raincoat which not even the most Labour-loyal newspaper could promote as a fashion trend-setter.
*
On Friday March 8th, 1974, the three-day week ended. Eugenie arrived at the office to find Revel in a jovial mood.
‘Rhoda’s been sent a Sally Soper,’ he said.
‘I’ve never read one,’ Eugenie said quickly.
It was what you always said. No one would admit to reading Sally Soper, though her books sold in millions and highbrow critics enjoyed musing loftily on who exactly her fan-base might be. And, genuinely, no-one could remember the titles of any of her books. They were just known as Sally Sopers.
‘Anyway, I told Rhoda to write the review. Never thought she’d pull it off, really, but I read the piece on the Tube coming in. Laughed so much people were staring at me.’
He passed Rhoda’s copy across to Eugenie. Intrigued, Eugenie began to read:
‘Once upon a time, Tilly was almost knocked over in the street by a large man. He was a mountain of a man, tall and dark and handsome and as he apologised, Tilly felt confused.
‘Tilly worked as a receptionist in a posh London art gallery. Mountain-man kept coming in, asking about the paintings. Tilly found herself completely tongue-tied. She was only a lowly receptionist. She didn’t know anything about the paintings and being so close to mountain-man made her feel, well, confused.
‘He brought her in a coffee and perched on the edge of her desk, asking her about herself. Afterwards, Tilly was in agony. Had she said too much? Too little? Why hadn’t she talked to him about himself? Oh, Silly Tilly. It was all too much. She felt all mixed up. Confused, really.
‘Well, guess what. It turns out that mountain-man is terribly rich and wants to buy the gallery and guess what he buys Tilly? Yes! An engagement ring! Isn’t that just such a wonderful surprise? Do you think she thought he got it out of a Christmas cracker? Will she be too confused to get his name right at the marriage ceremony? And please, don’t let’s even think of the state she’ll be in on her wedding night.
‘I was so swept away with anxiety I immediately booked myself in to a rest-home for the Confused, which is conveniently situated in Memory Lane. On the way there I am going to throw Sally Soper in the dustbin, and stop off for a much-needed, stiff gin and tonic. Cheers.’
Eugenie laughed. She was beginning to appreciate what Revel saw in Rhoda Floge.
‘She didn’t chuck the thing in the bin. She sent it to me. Here, have a look at the thing if you want.’
As an aspiring author herself, Eugenie was curious to see the Sally Soper book- jacket. The front cover was always the same colours, crimson and embossed gold. On the back, Eugenie read that Sally Soper had been married to her husband Malcolm for thirty one years and they lived in Bedfordshire.
Bedfordshire. Swampy. Who was it, Eugenie wondered, who had called the Midlands ‘soggy and unkind’?
The rest of the back cover was taken up with a hip-length pic of Sally herself. She had blonded-up hair and was wearing a man’s white shirt and a smile that was far too young for someone who was probably a grandmother.
Still, the white shirt was worth remembering. What was it about borrowing mens’ clothes that immediately made a woman look more appealing?
‘How is Mr Plantagenet?’
‘A lot better. But not one hundred per cent yet.’ Spending an awful lot of time on the phone to Art.
‘What I thought,’ Revel said, ‘was that he might like to write a travel piece for us. He went to Romania, didn’t he?’
‘He did. Transylvania.’
‘Perfect. Must be more to the place than Dracula.’
‘You’d have to pay David,’ Eugenie tried.
Revel shook his head. ‘He’ll be getting adequate recompense from you. Just like Andrew Millard did.’
‘You can work in my office,’ Eugenie told an enthusiastic David. ‘Then I’ll type it up for you.’
David sat down with her block of yellow copy paper, and began,
‘We are in Transylvania; and Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things.’ – Dracula.
‘Okay, that’s the Dracula bit out of the way. The Romanians themselves aren’t particularly interested in him. In my six weeks in Romania, I saw only one reference, a sign pointing to a Dracula hotel.’
Writing busily, he talked of the woods, the water, the seductive swell of the grassy hills.
The people. How some still believe in fairies and witches. The gipsies, feared for their spells, admired for their ability to fashion anything out of metal.
He described the farm villages, where people grew their own fresh food, picked their own apples, collected eggs from their speckled hens, and shared a pig.
‘I got about by hiking and biking down rutted dirt roads.
&n
bsp; ‘Would I go back? Yes. But not until I’ve learned to drive a car.’
He told Eugenie,‘Dawson’s got a driving school, in Fulham. He taught Art, and Art taught Araminta,’ in the red Mini convertible her parents had given her on her eighteenth birthday.
Araminta, described by the caretaker as a ‘very nicely spoken young lady,’ had dropped off David’s rucksack.
‘David, why don’t you invite Art and Araminta round?’
He looked evasive.
‘They could come on Saturday.’
‘No. No.’
‘Why not?’
‘They’re going away Sunday. To Grenada. Art wants to see the Alhambra. And Araminta knows a way round the Generalife Gardens that avoids the crowds.’
‘I don’t see why they can’t come Saturday.’
‘They’ll be packing.’
Eugenie let it drop, and sat down to type his Romania piece. ‘Oh, you can read my Minx synopsis if you want.’
‘I thought you didn’t like anyone reading your stuff.’
Efficiently, Eugenie wound paper and a carbon into her Adler. ‘I got over all that ages ago. Had to, with Revel tearing my articles to pieces. Anyway, if you tell me what you think of the Romania bit, it might make me get on and finish the thing. It’s just notes, I warn you. Scrappy. Not proper writing.’
But David was pleased to be asked, and read,
‘Count Alexandru takes Jeannette to his castle in Transylvania. (CHECK SCENERY ETC WITH DAVID) The count’s son and heir is preparing for his wedding to Bledda. Jeannette flirts with him shamelessly but just as things are getting really hot, Bledda discovers them.
A furious Bledda kidnaps Jeannette. (PUT IN EARLIER THAT B IS VERY ATHLETIC AND STRONG AND A FEARLESS DRIVER)
She takes Jeannette to a remote part of the country, which is just mile upon mile of farmland. She dumps Jeannette in a potato field and drives off to her wedding, her honeymoon and to join in the general confusion about what on earth can have happened to poor little Jeannette.
With his son safely married, the Count starts to hunt for Jeannette. His country is enormous and the terrain very varied. (ASK DAVID). It takes him two years, but when he finally finds her, he barely recognises her.
The delicate flower he had known is now weatherbeaten, robust, working in a field. She is supervised by a farm manager, who has a whip and is not averse to using it – especially on a woman. But she has a protector. He is young and virile, she calls him Ajax. He cannot speak English. She cannot speak Romanian. He came home from the fields one day and found her asleep in his shack. He fell in love with her, believing she was an elf who had been sent to him from the forest.(PUT IN SOME SEX).
The Count persuades J to come back to his castle. They drive off, but Ajax steals a motor bike and follows.’
David finished reading and Eugenie finished typing, at roughly the same time.
‘But how does Minx end?’ David demanded. ‘I mean, it’s all pretty potty anyway, but given that Transylvania is very fairies and witches, you might just get away with it. But how does it end?’
‘I don’t know,’ sighed Eugenie. ‘The Count, quite obviously, is in love with her and so is Ajax, but Ajax is a lot younger. On the other hand the Count is a sophisticated man with tons of dosh, and Ajax is a poor, illiterate peasant. I called him Ajax because that’s who Lou married. They got married in a forest.’
‘They what?’
‘The New Forest. There’s some vicar guy who does wedding blessings in the forest. He wears a green robe. For the wedding, Ajax wore chain-mail and a golden helmet. All the girls dressed up as butterflies, with wings. All the food was blue.’
‘Blue food?’
‘They had blue cheese and iced fairy cakes with blue Smarties stuck on. They had a little camp fire, and they all held hands and danced round it. They sang some hey, nonny, nonny thing.’
‘For Christ’s sake. What did she have as a wedding ring? A bit of twisted grass?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t go.’
‘You didn’t go? But Lou’s one of your oldest friends.’
‘That doesn’t mean I’ve got to dress up as a fucking butterfly. Shelagh went. She spends most of her time in fancy dress, anyway.’
*
It was April, after Easter, before David was well enough to have dinner with Andrew Millard. Andrew picked them up by taxi, and took them to the Thieves’ Kitchen, a restaurant in South Kensington.
He was wearing an open necked shirt, and a nutmeg-brown jacket in butter-soft suede. Eugenie always found him touchable, but this jacket made her melt with longing for him. All this, despite the bruising memory of the night he’d spent in her bed.
David had been shopping, with Art. They had invaded Essences, one of the new boutiques in the King’s Road. To the Thieves’ Kitchen, David wore low-slung black velvet pants, a matching collarless jacket, a lace blouse and rows of fine silvery chains. He had refused to let Eugenie cut his hair, which now reached his shoulders and which she suspected he curled in his bathroom each morning.
‘The point is,’Eugenie told Andrew, ‘Now David’s better, we’ve got to think of something for him to do. Not that he really needs to work. I’ve got quite enough for both of us.’
‘Marigold, just leave off, will you?’
‘You could go to photographic school. You’re good at photography. Or, you liked working in that bookshop in Cape Town. There’s a travel bookshop in Marylebone Lane. I’ve met very interesting people in there.’
Oh have you, thought Andrew. He had often wondered where Eugenie picked up her men.
‘Marigold, stop trying to organise my life. I’ve spent the best part of three years suiting myself, organising my own time. I’m not having you telling me what to do.’
‘I’m just making suggestions.’
‘I can think for myself, thanks. I might go back and work for Mr Carter. He’s given up the shop, now. Got an ice-cream van. Cost him a thousand quid.’
Andrew gave a silent whistle. ‘A thousand quid for an ice-cream van? You could get a second-hand Ford Escort for less than that.’ He went on, ‘Where did you like best, on your travels?’
‘Well I never got to the Himalayas. Pity. I wanted to see if I could get a sight of Everest.’
‘David, he asked you where you liked best.’
‘I was getting to that. Don’t hassle me. China. I was hoping to get to Chengde. It was the summer retreat of the Qing Dynasty emperors. But then the Art drama happened, and we had to get back to Peking.’
‘We?’ asked Andrew.
‘You have to have a guide. They won’t let you just wander about on your own. And the guide has to tell them beforehand exactly where you’re going. The exact itinerary, including when you expect to be back.’
Andrew emptied the carafe of red wine, and signalled for another. ‘This guide. Did he speak English?’
‘Yes. But it wasn’t a he. It was a she. Mei Huar, her name was. It means Spring Flower.’
‘How charming,’ Eugenie said, thinking Spring Flower! You walk around telling everyone your name is Spring Flower? It was as stupid as being called, um, Marigold.
‘This Spring Flower person. Did you sleep with her?’
‘Well we stayed in quite nice hostel places. And sometimes there was only one room.’
‘So you shared a bed.’
‘Yes. I mean, it was all nice and clean. Not like you woke up to find rats gnawing the mattress.’
‘So you fucked her?’
‘Well, you know. It just sort of happened.’
‘Did she know you were married?’
‘I think I did mention it, yes. But she didn’t seem, sort of, bothered. She said it was fate. She taught me the Mandarin for that, but I’ve forgotten. She’s very unusual. Her parents are artistic. They’re very liberal. A lot of girls are regarded as what the Chinese call maggots in the rice. But Mei Huar’s parents gave her quite a Western outlook.’
‘You seem to know an awf
ul lot about them.’
‘Well you talk a lot, on a walk. She wanted to take me to Chengde to meet them.’
‘How very cosy. Excuse me. I’ll go and find the Ladies.’
When she came back, David was telling Andrew, ‘…a really quite Western sense of humour. That’s very unusual, because most Chinese pride themselves on not having a sense of humour. They don’t like to appear trivial.’
‘How fascinating,’ Eugenie said. Andrew suddenly became completely absorbed in the dessert menu.
‘What the Mandarins do find completely hilarious is a Chinese Elvis impersonator.’
‘Goodness. How very, very hilarious.’
‘And bagpipes. Mei Huar just couldn’t stop laughing at my bagpipe imitation.’
‘I wish I’d been there.’
Andrew decided it was time to intervene.
‘I think I’ll have the Murderous Sticky Toffee Pudding.’
Being the Thieves’ Kitchen, the dessert menu featured dishes like Swag Sponge, Stolen Surprise – and now Eugenie and David were giggling.
‘Remind you of anything?’ Eugenie said.
‘God, the stuff he came up with. Do you remember Sorrento Sunrise? Ice-cream and jam.’
Andrew moved to break up their complicity.
‘I was thinking, David, you know, about that lost night of yours. In Hyde Park.’
David had told them that all he could remember, really, was getting blind drunk with Art, then feeling the need for the English countryside. Naturally, given the state he was in, the countryside meant Hyde Park, but lying in the park, he got cold in the morning and had absolutely no memory of collapsing in Park Lane.
‘I was wondering, if you want to feel you’re really back in England, how about a trip to the Lake District? We could go on the train. Do a bit of walking. If you’re not sick of walking?’
‘No! I’ve been missing it.’
Andrew smiled at Eugenie. ‘Don’t mind, do you? If I borrow him for a week?’
Because now Andrew had it all worked out. He recalled taking Eugenie to the theatre and he had sat very gently twisting her wedding ring round and round. It was a technique he used with married women. He knew he was perfectly safe from unwelcome assumptions concerning The Future, but at the same time he hoped the woman would be flattered into thinking that he was wishing it was his ring on her finger.
In Bed with Mr. Plantagenet Page 20
