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?’
