‘Aren’t they complete originals?’ said Gussie, as she and I changed later. She was wandering around in the nude trying to look at her back. Between her fiery red legs and shoulders, her skin was as white as lard.
‘I’m not peeling, am I?’ she asked anxiously. ‘It itches like mad.’
‘Looks a bit angry,’ I said, pleased to see that a few tiny white blisters had formed between her shoulders. It’d be coming off her in strips tomorrow.
‘Isn’t that girl Lorna quite devastating?’ she went on. ‘You could see Gareth wanted to absolutely gobble her up.’
‘She’s not that marvellous,’ I said, starting to pour water over my hair.
‘Oh but she is — quite lovely and so natural. Think of being seventeen again, all the things one was going to do, the books one was going to write, the places one was going to visit. I must say when a girl is beautiful at seventeen she gets a glow about her that old hags like you and I in our twenties can never hope to achieve.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ I muttered into the washbasin.
I knew when I finally finished doing my face that I’d never looked better. My eyes glittered brilliantly blue in my suntanned face; my hair, newly washed and straight, was almost white from the sun. Gussie, I’m glad to say, looked terrible. She was leaning out of the window when there was a crunch of wheels on the gravel outside.
‘Oh look, someone’s arriving. It’s the vicar.’
‘We’re obviously in for a wild evening,’ I said.
‘We’d better go down. Shall I wait?’
‘No. I’ll be ready in a minute. You go on.’
I was glad when she’d gone. I thought she might kick up a fuss at the dress I was going to wear. It was a short tunic in silver chain mail — the holes as big as half-crowns. High-necked at the front, it swooped to positive indecency at the back. Two very inadequate circles of silver sequins covered my breasts. I didn’t wear anything underneath except a pair of flesh-coloured pants, which gave the impression I wasn’t wearing anything at all.
Slowly I put it on, thinking all the time of the effect it would have on Jeremy when I walked into the sedate country living room. I gave a final brush to my hair and turned to look in the mirror. It was the first time I’d worn it with all my party warpaint, and the impact made even me catch my breath. Oh my, said I to myself, you’re going to set them by their country ears tonight. I was determined to make an entrance, so I fiddled with my hair until I could hear that more people had arrived.
There was a hush as I walked into the drawing-room. Everyone gazed at me. Men’s hands fluttered up to straighten their ties and smooth their hair, the women stared at me with ill-concealed envy and disapproval.
‘Christ!’ I heard Jeremy say, in appalled wonder.
But I was looking at Gareth. For the first time I saw a blaze of disapproval in his eyes. I’ve got under his guard at last, I thought in triumph.
There seemed to be no common denominator among the guests. They consisted of old blimps and tabby cats, several dons from the University, and their ill-dressed wives, a handful of people of Lorna’s age, the girls very debbie, the boys very wet, and a crowd of tough hunting types with braying voices and brick red faces. It was as though the Hamiltons had asked everyone they knew and liked, with a total disregard as to whether they’d mix.
I wandered towards Jeremy, Gussie and Gareth.
‘I see you’ve thrown yourself open to the public,’ said Gareth, but he didn’t smile. ‘I suppose I’d better go and hand round some drinks.’
‘You shouldn’t have worn that dress, Octavia,’ said Gussie in a shocked voice. ‘This isn’t London, you know.’
‘That’s only too obvious,’ I said, looking round.
Bridget Hamilton came over and took my arm. ‘How enchanting you look, Octavia. Do come and devastate our local MFH. He’s dying to meet you.’
He wasn’t the only one. Once those hunting types had had a few drinks, they all closed in on me, vying for my attention. Over and over again I let my glass be filled up. Never had my wit been more malicious or more sparkling. I kept them all in fits of braying laughter.
Like an experienced comedian, although I was keeping my audience happy, I was very conscious of what was going on in the wings — Jeremy, looking like a thundercloud because I was flirting so outrageously with other men, Gareth behaving like the Hamilton’s future son-in-law, whether he was coping with drinks or smiling into Lorna’s eyes. Every so often, however, his eyes flickered in my direction, and his face hardened.
About ten o’clock, Bridget Hamilton wandered in, very red in the face, and carrying two saucepans, and plonked them down on a long polished table beside a pile of plates and forks.
‘There’s risotto here,’ she said vaguely, ‘if anyone’s hungry.’
People surged forward to eat. I stayed put, the men around me stayed put as well. The din we were making increased until Gareth pushed his way through the crowd.
‘You ought to eat something, Octavia,’ he said.
I shook my head and smiled up at him insolently.
‘Aren’t you hungry?’ drawled the MFH who was lounging beside me.
I turned to him, smiling sweetly, ‘Only for you.’
A nearby group of women stopped filling their faces with risotto and talking about nappies, and looked at me in horror. The MFH’s wife was among them. She had a face like a well-bred cod.
‘The young gels of today are not the same as they were twenty years ago,’ she said loudly.
‘Of course they’re not,’ I shouted across at her. ‘Twenty years ago I was only six. You must expect some change in my appearance and behaviour.’
She turned puce with anger at the roar of laughter that greeted this. Gareth didn’t laugh. He took hold of my arm.
‘I think you’d better come and eat,’ he said in even tones.
‘I’ve told you once,’ I snapped, ‘I don’t want to eat. I want to dance. Why doesn’t someone put on the record player?’
The MFH looked down at the circles of silver sequins.
‘What happens to those when you dance?’
I giggled. ‘Now you see me, now you don’t. They’ve been known to shift off centre.’
There was another roar of laughter.
‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ said the MFH. ‘Let’s put a record on and dance.’
‘All right,’ I said, looking up at him under my lashes, ‘But I must go to the loo first.’
Upstairs in the bathroom, I hardly recognized myself. I looked like some Maenad, my hair tousled, my eyes glittering, my cheeks flushed. God, the dress was so beautiful.
‘And you’re so beautiful too,’ I added and, leaning forward, lightly kissed my reflection in the mirror.
Even in my alcoholic state, I was slightly abashed when I turned round and saw Gareth standing watching me from the doorway.
‘Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?’ I said.
He didn’t move.
‘I’d like to come past — if you don’t mind,’ I went on.
‘Oh no, you don’t,’ he said, grabbing my wrist.
‘Oh yes I do,’ I screamed, trying to tug myself away.
‘Will you stop behaving like a whore!’ he swore at me and, pulling me into the nearest bedroom, threw me on the bed and locked the door.
‘Now I suppose you’re going to treat me like a whore,’ I spat at him. ‘What will your precious Lorna say if she catches us here together?’
Suddenly I was frightened. There was murder in his eyes.
‘It’s about time someone taught you a lesson,’ he said, coming towards me. ‘And I’m afraid it’s going to be me.’
Before I realized it, Gareth had me across his knee. I’ve never known what living daylights were before, but he was certainly beating them out of me now. I started to scream and kick.
‘Shut up,’ he said viciously. ‘No one can hear you.’ The record player was still booming downstairs. I struggled and tried to bite him but he was far too strong for me. It was not the pain so much as the ghastly indignity. It
