stone needed feeding up.
‘I’m going to a party,’ said Harriet. ‘I’ll probably stay the night with a girlfriend, so don’t worry if I don’t come back.’ The glib way she could lie.
‘Quite right not to trust young gentlemen driving on these roads,’ said Mrs Glass. ‘Do you good to get out and enjoy yourself for a change.’
‘I’ll have a real tidy out tomorrow,’ said Harriet, wincing as she put deodorant under her arms. Her leg was still bleeding; it must be all that excitement pulsating through her veins.
She put on a pair of black lace pants and a black bra with a red ribbon she had bought in anticipation of Geoffrey. The pants hardly covered her at all and the red ribbon was too much, so she tore it off.
There was her black sweater all the time under the bed. She could wear it with her red skirt. It was getting late. What happened if Simon got bored of waiting and went out?
For once, her hair obeyed her. She splashed a bottle of scent, a Christmas present from Susie, all over her. She hoped it didn’t clash with the French Fern. How did French ferns differ from English, she wondered. Perhaps they were more sophisticated.
She galloped back along the streets. It was very cold now and the street lights gave the snow a curious pale radiance. Her breath crystallized in little clouds before her. The white nights, she said to herself; she was Anna Karenina smothered in furs hurrying to meet Vronsky, Natasha quivering with guilty expectation waiting for Anatole.
She felt more and more sick with nerves. Perhaps her mouth tasted awful; she stopped at the newsagents to buy some chewing gum. The windows of Simon’s digs were black. He’s gone, she thought in panic; one of those dazzling creatures has spirited him away. No, a thin beam of light trickled through the green silk curtains. A group of people were coming out. Oh, those echoing self-confident voices!
‘I do think it’s anti-social of Simon to throw us out when it’s so cold. Chloe is going to be simply livid,’ said one of the girls, scooping up a snowball and throwing it at one of the boys, as they all went screaming off into the night. Harriet threw away her chewing gum, it made no sound as it landed in the snow. The door was still open as she went up the path. Simon emerged from the darkness, his hair gleaming white in the street lamp.
‘I thought you’d done a bunk,’ he said.
‘I got soaked. I had to change.’
He put his hand out and touched her cheek.
‘You’re frozen. Come in.’
Only three people were left in the drawing room. Deirdre, who was putting on lipstick, a blond man who was rooting around the drinks tray to find himself some more wine, and Chloe who sat on the sofa, huddled like a sparrow on the telegraph wires on a cold day.
‘Oh poor thing,’ thought Harriet. ‘I’d mind losing Simon.’
‘Come on chaps,’ said Simon removing the bottle from the blond man, ‘chucking-out time.’
Harriet went over to the fire. She felt miserably embarrassed. Chloe looked mutinous. Simon got her blond, squashy fur coat out of the bedroom and held it out for her.
‘Come on, darling,’ he said firmly. ‘Beat it.’
Two angry spots of colour burnt on her cheeks. She snatched the coat from him and put it on herself.
‘You’re a bastard, Simon,’ she hissed. ‘And
‘We might all meet at Serena’s party later,’ said Deirdre, kissing Simon on the cheek. ‘She is expecting you, Simon.’
‘Not tonight, darling. Tell Serena I had a previous. .’ He shot a glance at Harriet. ‘No, a
He turned and shot Harriet that swift, devastating smile.
‘One has to be brutal occasionally to get what one wants in life.’
‘She was awfully upset,’ said Harriet.
‘She’ll recover,’ said Simon.
He chucked some logs on the fire, covering the flame and throwing the room into semi-darkness, and gave her a drink, the cold condensing on the outside of the glass. She held onto it to stop her hands shaking and took a huge gulp; it was a long time since the baked beans.
Simon disappeared into another room. She felt as though she was alone in some deserted woodland house, and that Indians or some invaders were slowly creeping through the undergrowth towards her — but she didn’t know when or from where they were going to attack. Simon returned with the remains of a quiche on a plate.
‘We never did have any lunch. Do you want some?’
She shook her head.
Simon helped himself to a slice.
‘You’re all right after the crash, are you?’ he said with his mouth full.
‘Just a few bruises, that’s all.’
‘I must look at them later.’
Her heart thumped madly; the firelight flickered on his face. She jumped as a log fell out of the grate.
‘Relax,’ said Simon. ‘I’ve never seen anyone as terrified as you. What put that scared look in your eyes? Were you raped as a child? Did you have strict parents? Were you bullied at school?’ He was making fun at her now, but his voice was like a caress.
She took another gulp of wine. Having eaten the inside of the quiche Simon was about to throw the pastry into the fire.
‘We could give it to the birds,’ said Harriet.
‘We could, I suppose.’ He opened the window, letting in a draught of icy air; the snow gleamed like a pearl. Simon put a record on the gramophone. It was a Mozart piano concerto.
‘You still look sad,’ said Simon.
‘I was thinking. . about Chloe.’
‘Not worth it. She’s the most frightful scrubber. I only took her out a couple of times. She’s one of those girls like scrambled egg, amazingly easy to make, but impossible to get off the pan afterwards.’
Harriet giggled.
‘That’s better,’ said Simon, ‘now come and sit on the sofa. No, next to me, not six feet away.’
She was still trembling, but the excitement was beginning to take over. He picked up her hand and kissed it.
‘I thought you were terribly good in
‘I know I was,’ said Simon. ‘So we’ve exhausted that subject.’
His hand on the back of the dark green velvet sofa was edging towards her hair, but he didn’t touch her. His timing was so good, he held off until she was in a panic that he was never going to. It was terribly hot in the room, she could feel the sweat trickling between her breasts.
‘You’re so pretty,’ he was saying in a low husky voice, and then he kissed her. At first she kept her arms clamped down by her side, but suddenly like the reflex action when one’s knee is tapped, they shot up and coiled themselves round Simon’s neck, and she was kissing him back with all her might, and his hands were on the move all over her body. Hastily she pulled in her spare tyre.
‘I mustn’t.’
‘You must, you must.’
‘You’ll think I’m too easy.’
‘I don’t. I just think you’re overdressed, that’s all,’ and he took off her earrings and put them side by side on the table. Then took off her shoes, and took the telephone off the hook.
She sat back waiting for an attack on another front.
‘You’ve got such a lovely body,’ he said, filling both their glasses.
‘One should really take lessons at prep school in undoing bras. Oh, I see; it does up at the front,’ he said a minute later.
His hands were warm on her bare back. He kissed her eyes, her hair, her mouth; she’d never dreamed he’d be so tender.
‘No,’ she gasped, leaping up as his fingers edged inside her waistband.
