Imogen

to recover herself. Glancing up, she saw Matt was watching her. She flushed and looked quickly away. I’m an embarrassment to him now, she thought miserably.

Then, to her relief, Cable said, ‘Look, there’s Gilmore.’

‘Over here,’ yelled Matt, waving his arms at a very suntanned man of medium height with a thin hawk-like face. He was wearing a beautifully cut cream boiler suit, slashed to the waist and tucked into black boots. He was screwing his eyes up and looking round.

‘He can’t see a thing without his glasses,’ said Cable. ‘Christ, what has he done to himself?’

The suntanned man finally located them and, stopping to gawp at a sensational brunette as he crossed the road, nearly got run over by a couple of stunning blondes in a pink convertible.

‘What a lovely way to go,’ he drawled. ‘Hullo, everyone.’ He clapped Matt on the shoulder, kissed Cable and collapsed into a chair. ‘Jesus, I need some first aid. Order me a quadruple whisky.’ No one moved.

‘What have you done to yourself?’ asked Matt.

‘You’ve changed your hair,’ said Cable.

‘It’s the Mark Antony look.’ Gilmore pulled the black tendrils over his forehead.

‘And you’ve been at the Grecian 2000. You’re as brown as a berry.’

‘It’s been a very good summer in Islington,’ said Gilmore, and roared with laughter.

‘You’ve had your ear pierced. And where did you get that white suit from?’

‘I decided my image was getting a bit dreary, I ought to jazz myself up a little.’

‘A little,’ said Cable. ‘Christ Almighty, Gilmore!’

Matt started to laugh.

‘Oh, shut up,’ said Gilmore. ‘It jolly well works anyway. How are you, Nicky? You look disgustingly healthy.’

‘No more than you,’ said Nicky, and introduced Imogen and James.

Matt ordered Gilmore a drink and another round for the rest of them.

‘Any luck with Braganzi?’ said Gilmore.

Matt shook his head. ‘Not a squeak. I’ve tried everything; and he machine-guns doorsteppers.’

‘Well, if you can’t get in there no one can,’ said Gilmore.

‘They were bloody good, those beauty queen pictures of yours,’ said Matt.

‘Took a hell of a lot of re-touching, both beauty queens and pix.’

‘How’s the paper?’ asked Matt.

‘Much the same when I left it.’ Gilmore drained half his whisky in one gulp. ‘Bruce Winter gave in his notice again; wrote a 17-page letter of resignation which no one could be bothered to read. So he’s staying on after all. Our man in Jerusalem was wounded in the foot in a riot. H.E. sent his love. All he can think about at the moment is the All-Woman Everest Expedition.’

‘Are we going to sponsor it?’

‘Not if the finance boys have their way.’

‘I picked up a good story this afternoon,’ said Matt. ‘All the kids have been cheating in their Baccalaureate. Some child got hold of the papers in advance and gave the answers to all and sundry. The authorities are completely flummoxed. They can’t fail the whole lot of them.’

‘Wish that would happen in London,’ sighed Gilmore. ‘It’s the only way my children would ever get their A levels. Are you going to file any copy?’

‘I might,’ said Matt, ‘if I can summon up the energy.’

‘There’s trouble blowing up in Peru,’ said Gilmore. ‘If it gets any worse H.E. did say you might have to cut short your lotus-eating and fly out there.’

‘What sort of trouble?’ said Matt.

He’s happy, thought Imogen wistfully. He must have been bored out of his mind this week with the rest of us.

It was Cable who broke them up.

‘Must you two talk shop all day? Where’s Bambi? In the bath?’

‘Er, no,’ said Gilmore, wincing as he gingerly turned the ring in his ear. ‘God, these things hurt! She’s in Islington.’

‘She’s what?’ said Cable.

‘In Islington.’

‘You’ve come on your own, then?’

‘In a word, no,’ said Gilmore.

‘You haven’t brought someone else?’ said Cable suspiciously.

‘In a word, yes,’ said Gilmore.

The stunned silence was interrupted by a gasp of amazement from James. An incredible blonde in silver platform heels, a silver space suit, with long blonde hair was causing considerable excitement as she wended her way along the front.

‘There she is,’ said Gilmore, going slightly pink under his suntan. ‘Over here, my cherub.’

‘She looks just like Bardot. She isn’t, is she?’ said James in excited tones.

‘Not quite,’ said Gilmore. ‘I call her Brigitte Barmaid actually.’

‘Jesus, look at those tits,’ said Nicky, smoothing his hair.

Matt was torn between laughter and disapproval.

‘Where on earth did you find her?’ he said.

‘She came to us as a temporary,’ said Larry. ‘I kept bumping into her in the lift.’

‘There was room for you both in the lift?’ asked Matt.

‘I thought she’d have a nice soothing influence on Cable,’ said Gilmore. ‘I know how she likes as many pretty girls around her as possible.’

Cable was looking like the inevitable thundercloud.

‘This is Tracey,’ went on Gilmore, as the blonde sat down between him and Imogen, with a flurry of ‘pleased-to-meet-yous’. ‘And she never drinks anything else but sweet Cinzano, because she’s hung up on sweet sin, aren’t you, my precious?’

‘Do you mind?’ said Tracey. ‘You’re lovely and brown,’ she added, beaming at Imogen. ‘I always think a tan does more for a blonde than anyone else. Thank God I brown very quickly.’

‘Don’t you burn?’ said Imogen, looking at the platinum hair.

‘Never,’ said Tracey. ‘This colour’s out of a bottle. Normally it’s dark brown.’

Imogen blinked, unused to such frankness. ‘Larry’s a wonderful colour already,’ she said.

‘Oh, that’s Man Tan,’ said Tracey. ‘It didn’t work on his legs. They’re all striped like a tiger.’

Imogen giggled, and suddenly felt more cheerful.

At that moment Yvonne arrived, weighed down with paper bags and postcards.

‘I got this for our Daily,’ she said, producing a lady in a crinoline made entirely of shells. ‘Isn’t it original? Oh hullo,’ she added to Gilmore. ‘You must be Larry. We’ve never met, but I so admire your work. And you must be Bambi?’ she said turning to Tracey. ‘I’ve heard so much about you. May I call you Bambi?’

‘Well I keep doing it all the time,’ said Gilmore in his lazy drawl, ‘but she doesn’t like it very much.’

Yvonne sat down between James and Matt.

‘Where are you staying?’ she asked.

‘At the Plaza,’ said Tracey. ‘The rooms are awfully pokey.’

Yvonne looked put out. ‘You should see our little hellholes,’ she said, glaring at Matt.

Tracey turned back to Imogen. ‘Isn’t it awful? Every time you turn on the bath in an hotel you get absolutely drenched from the shower. I got soaked tonight.’

She can’t be much older than I am, thought Imogen. Cable and Yvonne were both glaring at her as though she was a particularly nasty maggot who’d appeared in their salad. Looking at her more closely, Imogen realised that underneath the heavy make-up she had a round face, huge brown eyes and a very sweet smile.

‘Ta very much,’ she said, taking her Cinzano from Matt. ‘Who belongs to who round here?’ she added to Imogen. ‘Who’s the little one with the pink face who looks like Ronnie Corbett?’

‘That’s James. He’s married to Yvonne, the one with red hair. She’s a model.’