Her brain was reeling, that she should have met Simon Villiers in this way. Ever since she’d seen him playing Brick in the OUDS production of
‘The downward path is easy, but there’s no turning back,’ she muttered to herself as she pulled the doorbell. Theo Dutton’s children fell on her.
‘Hullo, Harriet. Harry ate a lamb for breakfast. It’s a joke: Harriet a lamb for breakfast.’
‘I’ve heard it before,’ said Harriet.
‘What time is it when an elephant sits on your fence?’ said the eldest.
‘I don’t know,’ said Harriet.
‘Time to get a new fence,’ the children exploded with laughter.
She often babysat when the Duttons went out.
‘We’ve made a snowman in the garden. Come and look at it. What does it remind you of?’
‘It looks like your father,’ said Harriet.
‘Waiting for the BBC to ring,’ said the youngest.
Harriet giggled.
‘Isn’t the snow lovely?’ she said.
‘Will you take us tobogganing this afternoon? Daddy’s working on a broadcast, which means he’ll go to sleep.’
‘And Mummy’s got a cold.’
Three expectant faces gazed at her.
Euphoria at meeting Simon overwhelmed her.
‘All right. I’ll come and pick you up at 2.30,’ she said.
‘This is much better,’ said Theo Dutton, lighting another cigarette.
Harriet watched the snow thickening on the roof opposite.
‘The style leaves a lot to be desired. I want to shake it and plump it up like a pillow, but your ideas are good. You’ve used your imagination.’
His shrewd, yellow eyes gleamed at her behind his spectacles. He tugged at his beard.
‘You’re very abstracted today,’ he said. ‘Someone’s switched a light on inside you. What’s happened? Boyfriend not coming down?’
Harriet laughed.
‘Lack of sleep — and I just love the snow. I’m sorry if I seem a bit dopey. I got knocked off my bicycle on the way here. I didn’t get hurt but it shook me a bit.’
She hoped she wouldn’t be too terrified of the people in Simon’s flat. She ought to go home and change into something better, but into what?
Theo looked at her speculatively, admiring the full breasts, the puppy plumpness, the long slim legs, the huge grey eyes with their heavy lids. One didn’t normally realize the beauty of them hidden behind glasses. She was terribly shy, but through the shyness one could feel the vitality. She’ll fall like a ripe plum any minute, he thought, with all the wistfulness of the happily married. There was nothing like a young, full-blooded girl suddenly introduced to the pleasure of the bed.
He sighed. Harriet wondered if she ought to rush out and blow the last of her month’s allowance on a new sweater. It would do her good not to eat for a fortnight.
‘This week,’ said Theo Dutton, ‘we’ll look at the sonnets. “With this Key,” said Wordsworth, “Shakespeare unlocked his heart.” When my mistress walks, she treads on the ground, and don’t forget it.’
At a quarter to twelve he got out the sherry bottle.
‘There are two kinds of sherry in Oxford: one you cook with, the other you use for drinking. Usually the two get muddled, but not in my house. I think after this, you’d better go back to bed — alone.’
He poured the sherry into smeared glasses.
‘I promised to take your children tobogganing,’ said Harriet.
She came out of Theo’s house to find a long, dark green car waiting for her. A man got out; he was smoking a cigarette and had auburn hair and the wild careering good looks of a red setter. Harriet recognized him immediately as one of Simon’s cronies, Mark Macaulay.
‘Simon sent me to fetch you,’ he said. ‘He thought you might get cold feet; as if anyone could get anything else in this bloody weather. Are you all right?’ he added, as she got into the car. ‘Simon said he sent you for six.’
Physically and mentally, thought Harriet.
‘I’m a bit sore at the bottom of my spine,’ she said.
‘Your coccyx,’ said Mark and laughed rather wildly. He already seemed a bit high.
‘Are there lots of people there?’ she said.
‘About a couple of dozen, including one or two predatory ladies who won’t be at all pleased that you’ve appeared on the scene.’
He shot her a sideways glance and laughed again.
Harriet felt nervous and excited at the same time.
‘Do you think I ought to go?’
‘It’s more than my life’s worth if you don’t. Not that it’s worth a lot anyway,’ he said, taking a bottle of brandy out of the dashboard and taking a swig. ‘I’m going down hill faster than a greased pig as it is.’
‘I wish I could go home and change,’ said Harriet.
‘Don’t change a thing. What Simon likes is novelty and you’re certainly different.’
‘He’s only being kind because he knocked me off my bike.’
‘Simon,’ said Mark, ‘never does anything to please anyone except himself.’
Chapter Three
Harriet had never seen anything like Simon’s drawing room — with its shaggy fur rugs, huge tropical plants, emerald green silk curtains and roaring fire which flickered on the French paperbacks — mostly plays and pornography — in the bookshelves. Invitations were stacked like a pack of cards on the mantelpiece. Signed photographs of famous actors and actresses looked down from the black walls. Glamorous people prowled about the room like beasts in a jungle. Then, most glamorous of all Simon, his blue-green eyes glittering, came over to welcome them.
He removed Harriet’s coat, then her scarf, then her spectacles.
‘I don’t want you to see my imperfections too clearly,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Isn’t she sweet?’ he added to Mark.
‘Yes,’ said Mark. ‘Much too sweet for you. That’s worrying me.’
A handsome Indian strolled up to them.
‘I wish you hadn’t painted this room black,’ he said petulantly. ‘I don’t show up against it.’
‘Go and stand in the snow,’ said Simon.
He gave Harriet a glass of ice-cold white wine, running his finger caressingly along her fingers as he did so.
‘That should cool you up,’ he said. ‘How was Theo? Did he like your essay?’
‘He seemed to — for once.’
‘What was it about?’
‘Which of Shakespeare’s heroes was — well — the b-best in bed.’
