trust for Xander’s children, and yours, if you have any.’ The only answer seemed to be to get pregnant.
When everything was added up I still owed the tax people a couple of grand, and Seaford-Brennen’s ?3,400. Both said, with great condescension, that they would give me time to pay.
The heat wave moved into its sixth week. Every news bulletin urged people to save water, and warned of the possibilities of a drought. Cattle were being boxed across the country to less parched areas. In the suffocating, airless heat, I tramped the London streets looking for work and a place to live. I never believed how tough it would be.
Just because one doting ex-lover, who’d put up with all my tantrums and unpunctuality, had directed me through the Revson commercial, I was convinced I could swan into acting and modelling jobs. But I found that Equity had clamped down in the past two years, so I couldn’t get film or television commercial work, even if ten million starving out-of-work actresses hadn’t been after each job anyway. Modelling was even more disastrous. I went to several auditions and was turned down. I seemed to have lost my sparkle. Gareth’s words about not being seventeen anymore, and it showing, kept ringing in my ears. The first photographer who booked me for a job refused to use me because I arrived an hour late. The second kept me sweltering for four hours modelling fur coats, expecting me to behave like a perfectly schooled clothes horse, then threw me out when I started arguing. The third sacked me because I took too long to change my make-up. I moved to another agency, and botched up two more jobs. After that one of the gossip columns printed a bitchy piece about my inability to settle down to anything, and as a result no one was prepared to give me work. Gareth was right anyway — it
I tried a secretarial agency. I asked them what they could offer me. What could I offer them, they answered. Gradually I realized that I was equipped for absolutely nothing. I took a job as a filing clerk in the City. Another catastrophe — within two days I’d completely fouled up the firm’s filing system. Next the agency sent me to a job as a receptionist.
‘All you have to do, Miss Brennen, is to look pleasant and direct people to the right floor.’
I thought I was doing all right, but after three days the Personnel woman sent for me.
‘Receptionists are supposed to be friendly, helpful people. After all, they are the first impression a visitor gets of the company. I’m afraid you’re too arrogant, Miss Brennen; you can’t look down your nose at people in this day and age. Everyone agrees you’ve got an unfortunate manner.’
Unfortunate manor — it sounded like a stately home with dry rot. It was a few seconds before I realized she was giving me the boot. The third job I went to, I smiled and smiled until my jaw ached. I lasted till Thursday; then someone told me I had to man the switchboard. No switchboard was ever unmanned faster. After I’d cut off the managing director and his mistress twice, and the sales manager’s deal-clinching call to Nigeria for the fourth time, a senior secretary with blue hair and a bright red face came down and screamed at me. My nerves in shreds, I screamed back. When I got my first pay packet on Friday morning, it also contained my notice.
Which, all in all, was great on character building but not too hot for morale. One of the bitterest lessons I also learnt was that beauty is largely a matter of time and money. In the old days when I could sleep in until lunchtime, and spend all afternoon sunbathing or slapping on face cream, filing my nails and getting ready to go on the town, it was easy to look good. But now, having to get up at eight o’clock to get to an office by nine-thirty, punched and pummelled to death by commuters on the tube, scurrying round all day with not a moment to do one’s face, not getting home till seven absolutely knackered, it was a very different proposition. I lost another seven pounds and all my self-confidence; for the first time in my life I walked down the street and no one turned their heads to look at me. In a way it was rather a relief.
After the secretarial agency gave me up, I rang up a few old friends who owned boutiques. Their reactions were all the same. They were either laying off staff, or told me kindly that their sort of work would bore me to death, which really meant they thought I was totally unreliable.
In the evenings I went and looked for flats which was even more depressing. Living on my own, I couldn’t afford anywhere remotely reasonable, and in my present mood I couldn’t bear to share with other girls. All that cooking scrambled eggs, knickers dripping over the bath, and shrieking with laughter over last night’s exploits. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t face new people, I was feeling so low I couldn’t believe they’d put up with me.
I was also fast running out of Valium — only six left, not even enough for an overdose. I couldn’t go to my doctor; I owed him too much money. At night I didn’t sleep, tossing and turning, eating my heart out for Gareth, worrying about leaving my darling flat, my only refuge. At the back of my mind, flickering like a snake’s tongue, was the thought of Andreas Katz. If I took up his modelling offer, it would get me off the hook, but I knew once Andreas had something on me, or in this case, everything off me, I’d never escape. I’d be sucked down to damnation like a quicksand. Even Xander had deserted me; he hadn’t called me for days. Gareth must be working the pants off him.
I was due to move out on the Saturday. The Thursday before, I sat, surrounded by suitcases, poring over the
‘You’ll have to camp,’ I said, ‘I’m moving out the day after tomorrow.’
‘Well, if it’s not too much bother, I’d so adore to see you again.’
She arrived about six o’clock in a flurry of parcels and suitcases.
‘I’ve gone mad buying sexy clothes,’ were her first words. ‘Gareth’s taking me out tonight.’
I couldn’t stand it, sitting in the flat and seeing her get all scented and beautiful for him.
I showed her to her room and then went into my bedroom and telephoned my ex-boyfriend, Charlie, and asked him to take me out.
He was enchanted. ‘God, it’s great to hear you baby. Mountain’s come to Mahomet at last. I won a monkey at poker last night so we can go anywhere you want. I’ll pick you up about nine.’
‘Can’t you get here any earlier?’
‘I’ll try, sweetheart.’
I wandered along to Lorna’s bedroom. She was trying on a new orange dress she’d just bought.
‘Do you think Gareth will like me in this?’ she said, craning her neck to see her back in the mirror.
‘Yes,’ I said truthfully. ‘You look ravishing. I’m going out too by the way, at about nine.’
‘Oh, Gareth’s coming at a quarter to, so you should see him.’
While she was in the bath, the telephone rang. Trembling, I picked up the receiver. Somehow I knew it was going to be Gareth.
‘Lorna’s in the bath,’ I said quickly. ‘Can I give her a message?’
‘Yeah, tell her I’ll be a bit late, around nine-thirty.’
‘All right,’ I said.
‘How are you?’ he asked brusquely.
‘I’m fine,’ I stammered. ‘And you?’
‘Tired, I’ve been working too hard. I’m off to the Middle East with your brother next week, which should be enlightening if nothing else. Have you found somewhere to live?’
‘Yes thanks,’ I said. ‘I’m moving out tomorrow.’
‘What about a job?’
‘That’s fine too. I must go,’ I went on, fighting back the tears. ‘I’ve got so much to do. Goodbye.’ And I put down the receiver.
I can’t stand it, I can’t stand it, I thought in agony.
Lorna walked in, wrapped in a towel, pink from her bath.
‘Oh I feel so much better. I used your Badedas. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘That was Gareth,’ I said. ‘He’s going to be late — about nine-thirty.’
‘Oh goodee, that’ll give me more time to tart myself up.’
Suddenly she looked at me.
‘Octavia, you look awfully pale. Are you all right?’
Tears, embarrassingly hot and prickly, rose to my eyes. I began to laugh, gasped hysterically, and then burst into tears.
