Imogen

Chapter Sixteen

When she woke next afternoon she thought she was going to die. She’d never known pain like it, as though a nutcracker was slowly crushing her skull in, and a lot of gnomes were hammering from the inside. For a few minutes she lay groaning pitifully, then opened her eyes, whereupon an agonising blaze of sunlight stabbed her like a knife and she hastily shut them again. Wincing, she started to piece together the events of the evening, the crazy lionising, the drinking and pot smoking, and finally the nude bathing. Someone had hung her wet trousers and jersey from the window. She wondered what had happened to her knickers and her shoes. She also had hazy memories of meeting Bambi, and Matt being very cross and bringing her home. But who the hell had undressed her? Sweat broke out, drenching her entire body. She only just made the lavatory in time and was violently sick.

On the way back to her room she passed Madame and a squeegee mop, wanting to hear all about her encounter with Braganzi and the Duchess. Muttering about shellfish poisoning, Imogen apologised and bolted back into her room, where she cleaned her teeth and then crawled miserably into bed. She tried to remember what she’d said to Matt on the way home. Oh, why had she made such an idiot of herself?

There was a knock on the door. It sounded like a clap of thunder. It was Matt wearing jeans and no shirt. He had just washed his hair and was rubbing it dry with a large pink mascara-stained towel. Imogen disappeared hastily under the bedclothes. She felt him sit down on the bed and slowly emerged.

‘You’re an absolute disgrace,’ he said.

‘Oh, go away,’ she moaned. ‘I know I behaved horribly. I’m quite prepared for what’s coming to me, and I don’t want any flowers or letters please.’

A smile so faint it was almost imperceptible touched his mouth at one corner.

‘Rotten France,’ she said, burying her face in the pillow. ‘One spends one’s time being sick for love or just sick. I feel terrible.’

‘Serve you right trying to pack ten years’ experience into one night, and as for scribbling obscenities in lipstick all over Mrs Edgworth’s clean car.’

‘Holy smoke!’ She sat bolt upright, clutching her head with one hand and the sheet to her breasts with the other. ‘Did I really? Does she know it was me?’

‘No, thanks to me. I managed to blur the Yvonne Bismarck bits, so she assumes it’s some random scribbler who got lit-up at the party.’

‘Oh, thank goodness!’

‘“Goodness,” as Mae West said, “had nothing to do with it.”’ He shook his head. ‘I must say the most outrageous alter ego emerges when you get stoned. I’m not sure your father would be very pleased by your performance last night. Not that anyone else appears to have behaved particularly well. Nicky hasn’t surfaced yet and Jumbo’s looking very poorly.’

‘W-where’s Larry?’ she stammered, pleating the sheet with her fingers, unable to meet Matt’s eyes.

‘Gone. He sent fondest love and a letter. Bambi’s taken him off to Antibes.’

‘Will they be OK?’

‘Probably, after a bit of straight talking. They’re both equally to blame.’

‘And Tracey?’

‘Gone to a thrash in Marbella with some movie star. He wanted you to go too, but I thought you’d had enough excitement to be going on with. By the way I’ve got a present for you,’ and out of his pocket he produced a leather jewel box. For a glorious, lunatic moment Imogen wondered if he was giving her a ring. Then he said, ‘It’s from the Duchess and Braganzi to say thank you. There’s a letter from her, too.’

Imogen opened the box. It was a gold necklace, set with seed pearls and rubies. She gave a gasp of delight.

‘Pretty, isn’t it? Try it on.’

She bowed her head forward. He put his arms around her to do up the clasp, his broad brown chest was only inches away from her. She ached to reach out and touch it. She trembled as she felt his fingers on her neck. She prayed it was clean enough.

‘There.’ Matt leaned back. ‘It looks terrific. Have a look.’ He reached for a hand mirror beside the bed and held it up for her. The necklace was beautiful but the effect was slightly spoiled by a mascara smudge under one eye and a large bit of sleep in the corner of the other. Hastily she rubbed them away.

‘It’s so kind of them both. It was so little that I did,’ she muttered. Then she gave a gasp of horror. ‘But I never asked you, I quite forgot. What happened about the piece?’

‘They liked it. They hardly changed a thing.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful. And your paper?’

‘They’re pretty pleased too.’

‘I’m so glad. So it was worth it after all that struggle.’

‘Yes, it nearly always is. I feel sort of Christlike today. It’s the best feeling in the world, or almost the best feeling. .’ he smiled. . ‘the day after you’ve finished something you’ve really sweated your guts out over.’ He squeezed her thigh gently through the blanket. ‘And it’s all due to you, darling.’

Imogen wriggled with embarrassment. ‘It was nothing,’ she cast desperately around for a change of subject. ‘Look, does Yvonne really not realise it was me?’

‘Well, her mind’s on other things today. Evidently Jumbo disgraced himself last night, and being Saturday, the beach is like Oxford Street in the rush hour, but she’s forgotten all that. She got a telegram midday confirming her film part.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Imogen.

‘Quite. She’s being utterly insufferable, upstaging Cable in particular; so you can imagine Cable is not in the sunniest of tempers.’

His hair was nearly dry now. Blond and silky, it flopped over his tanned forehead. Imogen longed to run her fingers through it. She was driven distracted by his nearness, but it was such heaven having him sitting gossiping on her bed, she’d almost forgotten her hangover.

He got to his feet.

‘To celebrate her new starring role, Mrs Edgworth has actually offered to take us all out to dinner. I hope you’ll be able to make it. I need a few allies.’

When he had gone she opened her letters. There were several invitations, addressed to Morgan Brocklehurst, asking her to parties in various parts of Europe. Someone even wanted her to open a fête in Marseilles next week.

Larry’s letter was scrawled on a piece of flimsy:

‘Darling little Imogen, you were very sweet to me last night, when I needed it very badly, and you succeeded in making Bambi wildly jealous, which is all to the good, although I had great difficulty on the evidence of last night in persuading her how miserable I’d been without her. I’ll send you those pictures when I get them developed. If you ever want a bed in London, come and stay with us. Je t’embrasse, Larry. PS I thought your piece on Mrs Edgworth’s car was inspired.’

The last letter was from the Duchess.

‘My dear Imogen, Thank you again a million times for what you did for Ricky. This little necklace is only a small way of expressing our gratitude. Do come and stay with us next time you have some time off and write and let me know how your holiday works out. I liked your Mr O’Connor and he writes very well too. I wouldn’t give up hope if I were you. Love, Camilla.’

But hope would be hope of the wrong thing, sighed Imogen, but allowed herself a daydream of having a flat in London, and giving dinner parties, asking the Duchess and Braganzi to meet Larry and Bambi, with Matt coming early to help with the drinks, and her letting him in in a black satin petticoat, and him starting to kiss her so neither of them were remotely ready when the guests arrived.

Stop it, she told herself firmly, but with the thought that she really would ask him to help her get a job in London, she drifted off to sleep.

When she woke up around eight, she felt a bit shaky, but normal. The rest of the party, gathered in the bar, greeted her like a long lost sister. Within a few minutes she realised that they were in for a decidedly stormy evening. Yvonne, dressed in a cowl-necked sky-blue dress which could easily have been worn by the Virgin Mary, was at her most poisonous, smiling smugly, and queening it over everyone, particularly Cable, whom Imogen would have felt extremely sorry for if she hadn’t been in such a filthy temper, biting people’s heads off, and casting dark spiteful looks in Imogen’s direction. Now Tracey had gone, she had apparently made it up with Nicky, and insisted on sitting next to him at dinner.

They had just finished eating. Cable had only toyed with a few asparagus tips, when the waiter put a shampoo sachet on the side of her plate.

‘What’s that for?’ said Cable. ‘Do they want me to wash my hair?’

‘Cleaning your fingers,’ said Nicky.

‘I prefer finger bowls.’

‘They’d be quite useful for après-sex,’ said Nicky, examining the sachet. ‘They should put them in bedrooms.’

‘I prefer finger bowls for that too,’ said Cable.

‘Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor,’ said Imogen idly counting her olive stones.

Cable shot her an uncontrollable look of hatred. ‘Pity there isn’t a rhyme that includes dissolute Irish journalists. That’s what you’re really after, isn’t it Imogen?’

‘Pack it in,’ said Matt, icily.

‘Well it’s true,’ said Cable, opening her bag and getting out her lipstick. At the same time a bill fluttered out on to the table. Cable quickly reached out to retrieve it, but Matt’s hand closed over it first.

‘Give it to me,’ hissed Cable.

Matt smoothed out the bill and looked at it for a minute. A muscle started to flicker in his cheek.

‘What’s this for?’ he said quietly.

‘A few things I bought in Marseilles.’

‘But this is for 4,500 francs!’

That’s well over £500, thought Imogen incredulously.

‘It must have been your peacock feather dress,’ said Yvonne, brightening at the prospect of a showdown. ‘I told you it was a rip-off at the time.’

‘Particularly as someone ripped it right off you at that party,’ said James and roared with laughter, stopping suddenly when he realised no one else was.

‘D’you mean to tell me you spent 4,500 francs on one dress?’ said Matt slowly.

‘I had to have something new. You couldn’t turn up in any old rag to that party. Everyone noticed it. That’s the way one gets work.’

‘Not that kind of work. How the hell d’you think we’re going to pay for the rest of the holiday?’

‘You’ll have to win it back at the Casino. You can always cable the paper. You must have made twice that on your precious Braganzi story already.’

They paused, rigid with animosity, as the waiter cleared away the debris, leaving only clean glasses and ashtrays.

‘Anyway,’ Cable went on, ‘since you decided to buy her’ — she glared at Imogen — ‘an entire new wardrobe, I thought it was my turn to have a few new clothes. Don’t you agree, Nicky?’

Nicky showed his teeth non-committally. He wasn’t going to be drawn in.

‘Children, children,’ cried Yvonne, dimples flashing, highly delighted by the turn of events, ‘please don’t spoil my party. I’ve got something to tell you all. This is a very special night for Jumbo and me.’

‘So you’ve already told us,’ snarled Cable. She turned to Matt. ‘I don’t know why you’ve got so fucking tight with bread recently.’

‘Skip it,’ said Matt, ‘we’ll discuss it later.’ His face was expressionless but his hand trembled with rage as he folded up the bill and put it in his pocket.

‘That’s right, kiss and make up,’ said Yvonne.

There’s going to be one hell of a row later, thought Imogen, as the waiter arrived with an ice bucket and a bottle of champagne.

‘What’s that for?’ said Nicky, as the waiter removed the cork and filled up everyone’s glasses.

‘Because I want to celebrate my first and last film part for a long time.’

‘Your last?’ asked Imogen.

‘When I went to the doctor about my foot the other day, he was able to confirm that I’m expecting a baby.’ Yvonne, her head on one side, looked even more like the Virgin Mary than ever.

There was a long pause. Imogen caught Nicky’s eye and for a terrible moment thought she was going to laugh. She could see Matt still gaining control of himself with an effort. Then his natural good nature conquered his fury with Cable.

‘That’s great news. Congratulations to you both.’ He raised his glass in the air. ‘To Baby Edgworth.’

‘Baby Edgworth,’ said Nicky and Imogen dutifully.

‘I must say I’m jolly excited,’ said James, leaning across and giving Yvonne a great splashy kiss, which she immediately wiped away with her napkin.

Cable said nothing. She was drumming her fingers on the table. Then she got to her feet.

‘I’m going to the loo.’

‘Aren’t you going to congratulate me?’ said Yvonne.

‘The prospect that there might be another replica of you in the world shortly is too horrible to contemplate,’ said Cable and turned on her heel.

There was another long pause.

‘How horrid of her,’ said Yvonne in a choked voice, then added more brightly, ‘Of course she’s only jealous. As I told her this morning, she’s twenty-six now, her days as a model are numbered. She really ought to think about settling down soon. I know you don’t like talking about marriage, Matt, but I’m sure if she had a tiny baby of her own, she’d be a different person.’

‘Even worse I should think,’ said Nicky, filling up everyone’s glasses. ‘I can’t see Cable changing nappies.’

‘Oh, she could always use the nappy service, or disposable nappies, don’t you agree, Matt?’

‘When’s it due?’ asked Imogen hastily.

‘May the 10th,’ said Yvonne. ‘I’m awfully glad it’ll be a little Taurean, rather than Gemini, so much more placid. Cable’s Gemini, isn’t she, Matt?’

She knows exactly to the day, thought Imogen. She and James can’t sleep together very much.

Yvonne was still rabbiting on about the baby when Cable came back. Imogen could catch an asphyxiating waft of her scent from across the table. She’d drawn even darker lines round her eyes. She looked like a witch. For a moment she stood glaring at them until Nicky and James rose dutifully to their feet. Matt remained seated, his eyes cold, his mouth shut in a hard line.

Cable slipped into her seat.

‘Where are we going next?’ she said. ‘Let’s drive over to Antoine de la Tour’s place.’

‘We’re not going anywhere,’ snapped Matt. ‘We can’t afford it.’

‘Oh, don’t be bloody stingy.’

‘When I planned this holiday I didn’t bank on you spending 4,500 francs on a lot of feathers.’

‘I’m going to bed too,’ said Yvonne. ‘With Baby on the way, I don’t want any late nights.’

‘I want to go to Verdi’s Requiem.’

‘Well, you can’t.’

‘Why don’t we compromise?’ said Nicky reasonably. ‘Let’s go to the fair and win some cheap plonk at the shooting range, and have a party back in our rooms.’

Only Yvonne wanted to go to bed. It would have been like missing the last act of a thriller. After they’d been to the fair, they all congregated in Nicky’s room.

James, who proved a surprisingly good shot, had won a large teddy bear, a china Alsatian and two goldfish, who were swimming around in the bidet.

Imogen sat on the floor, too stunned by the hostilities at dinner to say anything. Nicky was filling tooth-mugs. Matt lounged on the bed blowing smoke rings.

Cable, who was extremely drunk by now, was pacing up and down, determined to keep everyone’s attention. She tossed back one mug of wine, and was about to pour another one, when Matt got up and took away the bottle.

‘You’ve had enough,’ he said quietly.

‘I have not!’ she snapped back.

She rushed over to Nicky and flung her arms round his neck.

‘I’m as sober as a judge, aren’t I, darling?’

Nicky grinned and pulled her on to his knee.

‘I don’t care what you are,’ he said, ‘but I like you.’

‘There you are,’ Cable said triumphantly. ‘Nicky says I’m lovely. I’m glad someone appreciates me.’

‘Cable, baby,’ said Matt, ‘at this moment the whole neighbourhood is appreciating you, particularly the people in the next door room. Keep your voice down.’

Cable slipped off Nicky’s knee and went over to the dressing table and picked up the transistor.

‘Let’s have some music,’ she said, turning it up full blast. ‘Imogen did a strip-tease last night. Now it’s my turn. I’m going to do the Dance of the Seven Veils.’

She kicked off her shoes and started to sway to the music.

‘There’s one veil gone.’

‘Atta girl,’ said Nicky.

‘What’s the next veil?’ said James.

‘My watch,’ said Cable, taking it off without stopping dancing.

A muscle was going in Matt’s cheek.

‘Cable,’ he said in a voice of ice, ‘turn that transistor down.’

‘Why should I?’ she said. ‘I’m sick of being ordered about. Veil number three coming up.’ She started undoing the buttons of her blue shirt.

James’s eyes were out on stalks.

Matt got to his feet, went over to the transistor and turned it off.

Cable seized his wrist. ‘Why are you such a wet blanket?’

‘Go to bed and stop making a fool of yourself.’

‘All right,’ said Cable defiantly. ‘I’ll find some decent music somewhere else.’

She opened the window and put a foot out.

‘Oh, don’t Cable,’ cried Imogen. ‘It’s terribly dangerous.’

‘I’m going,’ said Cable, starting to climb down the wall.

‘You mustn’t let her,’ said Imogen, running to the window and catching Cable’s hand.

‘Turn on the transistor,’ screamed Cable, who was hanging from the window.

Imogen turned, pleading to Matt, ‘Please stop her.’

‘Leave her alone. She’s just showing off,’ he said.

‘Oh, let her go,’ said Nicky. ‘I’m fed up with her tantrums.’

Reluctantly, Imogen let go of her hand.

Cable started to clamber down the wall, then missed her footing and crashed to the ground.

‘Are you all right?’ called Imogen, worried.

Nicky and James started to roar with laughter.

‘She’s sitting in the middle of the road,’ said Imogen, giggling in spite of herself. ‘I hope she doesn’t get run over.’

‘Most unlikely,’ said Nicky. ‘It’s a very deserted road, unfortunately.’

‘For goodness sake forget her,’ said Matt. ‘She’ll get bored soon and come in.’

‘But she might have hurt herself,’ said Imogen.

‘Cable yells her head off if she even pricks her finger,’ said Matt.

James put on Cable’s wig, and a pair of earrings and started to do a tango with the Teddy bear. Everyone got slightly hysterical.

‘She’s all hunched up,’ said Imogen. ‘I think she’s crying. I’m going down to her.’

‘Not by yourself,’ said Matt, taking her arm. ‘I’ll come with you.’

As they turned down an alley to reach the back of the hotel, Imogen stumbled. Matt caught her and suddenly she was in his arms, her eyes wide, her heart pounding.

As if by instinct, he bent his head and kissed her, and once she started she found she couldn’t stop. She was powerless to do anything but kiss him back.

It was Matt who had to prise her fingers away from his neck. ‘Easy, sweetheart. We’ve come to look for Cable not the end of the rainbow.’

He groped for a cigarette and, as the match lit up his face, his features were expressionless. Shattered, mortified, Imogen walked beside him. How could she have let herself go like that?

They found Cable lying in a huddle in the street. She was sobbing quietly. Matt was across the road in a flash. In the moonlight Imogen could see that her ankle was grotesquely swollen. Matt dropped on his knees beside her.

‘Oh, God, darling, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’ There was no mistaking the tenderness and concern in his voice.

‘Please don’t go,’ said Cable, through gritted teeth, and as he picked her up to carry her inside, she fainted. When the doctor arrived next morning he said she had broken her ankle.