Octavia

‘I much prefer whisky. Let me buy this round.’

Charlie shook his head and summoned the waitress.

‘You actually got engaged today?’ I said.

‘Well, yesterday,’ said Gussie, hauling a bra strap up a fat white shoulder.

‘Have you got a ring?’

‘Yes. Isn’t it lovely?’ She held out a short stubby hand that had never seen a manicure in its life. On the third finger glowed an antique ring — rubies and pearls surrounded a plait of hair.

Of course he would choose something as subtly pretty as that. All the guys I knew would have given me solitaires or sapphires as big as a gull’s egg.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ I said looking through my hair at Jeremy. ‘You are lucky, Gussie. Really beautiful men with exquisite taste into the bargain are at a premium these days.’

Charlie, busy ordering drinks, missed that remark. Jeremy blushed slightly.

‘Yes, he is beautiful, isn’t he,’ sighed Gussie. ‘I have to keep pinching myself to prove it’s not a dream that he should have chosen an old frump like me.’

‘When you’ve both finished discussing me like a prize bull. .’ said Jeremy, but he said it gently and, taking a loose strand of Gussie’s hair, smoothed it behind her ear.

The drinks arrived.

‘Gosh, thanks awfully. It’s terribly kind of you,’ said Gussie, beaming at Charlie. I remembered of old how ridiculously grateful she’d always been about the smallest things.

‘And that’s a beautiful suit,’ she added wistfully. ‘Jeremy would look divine in clothes like that, but he’s such an old square.’

I waited for Charlie to wince, but he didn’t and was soon telling her all about the shop. That was another thing about her, she always managed to make people talk about themselves, and gave the impression she was really interested.

I gave Jeremy a long speculative look. He dropped his eyes first and took a gulp of whisky.

‘That’s better. I’ve never been wild about champagne.’

‘I only like it for elevenses,’ I said. ‘When are you getting married?’

‘November, we thought.’

‘Not before! But that’s light years away! Why on earth wait so long?’

‘I’ve got a large overdraft already, and I don’t relish the idea of living off Gussie.’

Gussie, I remembered, had a bit of money of her own.

‘What do you do?’

‘I’m in publishing, as an editor. I write a bit myself as well.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘Oh, poetry, a bit of criticism, the odd review, nothing likely to make any money.’

He looked like a poet with those dreamy blue eyes and long blond hair, yet it wasn’t a weak face; there was a strength about the mouth and chin. I got out a cigarette; he lit it for me. I held his hand to steady the flame, looking up at him from under my lashes. Surely he could feel the electricity between us? He put away his lighter.

‘Why are you called Octavia?’

‘I was born on October the 25th. My mother’d gone off my father by then and was mad about someone else, and she couldn’t have been less amused by my arrival, or be bothered to think of a name for me. So she called me after the month. It’s a damn silly name to be saddled with.’

‘It’s a beautiful name. It suits you. Did your mother marry the man she was mad about?’

‘Oh no, someone quite different, and then someone else, and then someone else. My father was married twice too, but he’s dead now. I’ve lost count of my stepbrothers and sisters.’

‘It can’t have been very easy for you. I come from a broken home myself, but not one that’s in smithereens. Do you see your mother?’

‘Occasionally, when she’s sober, or comes to London. I hardly ever go down to the country to see her. I hate scenes. She’s rather sad now. Her looks are going and she gets terrible maudlin fits reminiscing about my father, which drive her present husband mad.’

How gentle and compassionate his eyes were now, and how ridiculously long his eyelashes.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, putting a husky little break into my voice that I’d perfected over the years. ‘I didn’t mean to bore you with family history. I never talk about it usually.’

That was a lie. It was Act I in the Octavia Brennen seduction routine — make them feel I need looking after.

‘I’m flattered you told me,’ he said.

‘How did you two meet?’

‘Gussie came and did temporary typing for me while my own secretary was skiing. She wasn’t wildly efficient, every letter had to be typed over again, and she kept putting things in the wrong envelopes, but she was so sweet that when my own streamlined secretary came back and restored order, I realized I was missing Gus. I telephoned the agency, started taking her out and that was that.’

‘I’m not surprised; she’s so lovely.’ I hoped he couldn’t detect the whopping ring of insincerity in my voice. ‘She always protected me from all the bullies when we were at school.’

‘Yes, she grows on you.’

She was evidently growing on Charlie.

‘Once I tried to diet faithfully,’ she was saying. ‘Day after day, week after week, not eating a thing but lettuce and steamed fish. But all I’d lost after six weeks was half an inch in height!’ She shrieked with laughter. So did Charlie and Jeremy.

They were playing the Rolling Stones latest record. I leaned forward, pressing my elbows together to deepen my cleavage. I saw Jeremy glance down at it and quickly glance away.

‘I’m mad for this tune,’ I said.

‘What are we waiting for?’ said Charlie, getting up.

Dancing is the thing I do best in the world. It seems to release all the frustrations from my body, all the evils from my soul.

I was wearing a long, gold, semi-transparent tunic, exactly the same colour as my hair, with a mass of gold chains round my neck. I felt like a piece of seaweed streaming with the tide of the music, flowing now this way, now that. I knew everyone in the room was watching me, the women with envy, the men with lust.

Charlie dances superbly too; his body seems to turn to rubber. I never fancy him so much as when we’re on the dance floor. Through a sheet of gold hair I saw Jeremy was watching me. He turned and said something to Gussie; she smiled and looked in my direction. The music stopped; hand-in-hand Charlie and I wandered back to our table.

‘We’re off,’ I said, deciding this was the ideal exit note.

‘Going home?’ said Gussie.

‘No, we’re going to another place,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s just been opened by a mate of mine. Want to come?’ He had changed his tune.

Jeremy looked at Gussie; she shook her head.

‘We’ve both got to get up early in the morning, but do give me your telephone number, Octavia. We must keep in touch.’

‘We must,’ I said, staring shamelessly at Jeremy. ‘You must both come to dinner.’

‘Yes, we’d like to,’ he said, emphasizing the ‘we’.

Even when we finally got home, I was still walking on air, unable to keep the Cheshire cat grin of exultation off my face. As the lift shot up to the penthouse flat I had the feeling it might take me through the roof straight up to the stars.

My flat was beautiful. Alexander, my brother, who is an expert at interior decorating, had helped me do it up. Everyone gasped when they first saw it. Huge fleshy potted plants, banked at each end of the long drawing room, gave the effect of a jungle. The fourth wall was all window, looking out onto the lamp-lit plane trees of Green Park. Kicking off my shoes, I felt my feet sink into the thick, white carpet.

Almost immediately the telephone rang.

‘Answer it, would you?’ I said to Charlie.