‘Octavia! Oh poor love, what is it?’
‘N-nothing. Everything,’ I couldn’t stop now.
‘What’s wrong? Please tell me.’
‘Oh, the usual thing.’
‘You’re mad for someone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well you’re so stunning, he must be mad for you.’
‘He isn’t. He hardly knows I exist.’
‘He couldn’t know you properly then. Here, take my handkerchief.’
‘I’d better go and get ready,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to go out in a minute.’
I put on a black trouser suit with a high mandarin collar and huge floppy trousers. It hung off me. I tied my hair back with a black bow. Were those dry lips and red swollen eyes really mine? Charlie wouldn’t recognize me.
Lorna answered the door when he arrived. She came rushing into my bedroom.
‘He’s
It was too much effort to explain to her he wasn’t the one.
‘Can you give him a drink?’ I said. ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’
I hung around, fiddling with my make-up, trying to summon up enough courage to face him. I’d lost all my confidence. Finally I realized if I didn’t get a move on I’d go slap into Gareth.
Charlie looked exquisite, and, to me, absurd. He had already helped himself to a second whisky and was settling down on the sofa to chat up Lorna.
He got to his feet when I came in and pecked me on the cheek.
‘Hullo baby. Playing it in the minor key for a change,’ he said, taking in the black suit, the dark glasses, the drawn-back hair. ‘I like it, it’s great.’
‘Shall we go?’ I said, going towards the door.
‘Already?’ said Charlie. ‘I haven’t finished my drink.’
‘I want to go now,’ I snapped.
‘The lady seems to be in a hurry, so I’ll bid you goodnight,’ said Charlie, theatrically, bowing from the waist to Lorna. ‘I hope you’ll come into the shop one day now you’re in London.’
‘You’ve got a key, haven’t you?’ I said to her. ‘Have a good evening. I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Hey, what’s bitten you?’ said Charlie, as we went down in the lift.
It was a hideous evening. In three short weeks I seemed to have grown a world apart from Charlie and his flash trendy friends, waiting round in Tramps all night for something to happen, only interested in being the first ones to latch on to the latest fad. Suddenly their values seemed completely dislocated.
We went to Annabel’s and I couldn’t stand it, then we moved on to the Dumbbells, then on to somewhere else and somewhere else. Finally Charlie took me back to his flat and we played records.
I have to hand it to Charlie; he seemed to realize instinctively that I was at suicide level and didn’t attempt to pounce on me in his usual fashion. Perhaps it had something to do with his having a new girlfriend who was off modelling in Stockholm for a couple of days. I looked at my watch. It was three o’clock.
‘What’s the matter baby?’ he asked. ‘Have you fallen for some bloke at last? I’ve never seen you so
He took off my dark glasses.
‘Boy; you do look different. I must say I rather go for the Ave Maria look.’
It would have helped if I could have cried on his shoulder, but I’d gone beyond that stage now, I was just numb with misery.
‘Take me home, please Charlie,’ I said.
Next day, life picked up about half an inch. For an hour I endured the torture of listening to Lorna babbling on at breakfast about the marvellous time she’d had with Gareth.
‘After dinner, we went up to the top of the Hilton for a drink, and looked out over the whole of London, it was so romantic,’ she said, helping herself to a third piece of toast and marmalade. Her mascara was still smudged under her eyes. I hoped it wasn’t sex that had given her such an appetite.
Then she started to ask me awkward questions about the new job I’d lied to Gareth that I’d got.
‘It’s in Knightsbridge,’ I said.
‘Well you must give me the telephone number because you’ll be moving out of here.’
‘I’ll be travelling a lot,’ I said hastily. ‘And they’re always a bit dodgy about personal calls to start off with. I’ll write and tell you.’
‘It sounds marvellous,’ said Lorna, selecting a banana. ‘But if by chance it doesn’t work out, Gareth says there’s a marvellous new agency started up in Albemarle Street called Square Peg. They specialize in placing people who want to branch out in completely new fields.’
‘I’ll take the address just in case,’ I said.
As soon as she’d gone, pleading with me to come and spend the weekend soon, I had a bath, painted my face with great care, took my last two Valium, and set out for Square Peg. They turned out to be very friendly and businesslike, and despatched me straightaway to a public relations firm in the City.
The firm’s offices were scruffy, untidy, and terribly hot. The secretary who welcomed me looked tired out, and her hair needed washing, but she gave me the sort of smile that all those personnel bitches I’d worked for were always banging on about.
‘It’s been a hell of a week,’ she said. ‘The air conditioning’s broken and the heat’s been terrible. It’s crazy hard work here, but it’s fun.’
The boss was a small dark Jew called Jakey Bartholomew, who seemed to burn with energy. His foxy, brown eyes shone with intelligence behind horn-rimmed spectacles. He had to lift a lot of files, a box of pork chops, and a huge cutout cardboard of a pig off a chair before I could sit down.
‘We’ve just landed the Pig Industry account,’ he said grinning. ‘I’m trying to persuade them to produce kosher pork. We’ve been going for nine months now, and we’re taking on new business all the time because we provide the goods on a shoestring. Do you know anything about public relations?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Just as well. You haven’t had time to pick up any bad habits.’ He ripped open a couple of beer cans and gave me one.
‘We’re a small outfit, only ten people in the firm, and we can’t afford passengers. We need a girl Friday — you can see this place is in shit order — to keep it tidy, make decent coffee, and chat up the clients when they come. Then you’d have to do things like putting press releases into envelopes, taking them to the post, organizing press parties, and probably writing the odd release. It’s very menial work.’
‘I don’t care,’ I said, trying to keep the quiver of desperation out of my voice. ‘I’ll do anything.’
‘If you’re good we’ll promote you very fast.’
Suddenly he grinned, reminding me of Gareth.
‘All right, you’re on, baby. Go along to the accounts department in a minute and get your P.45 sorted out. We’ll start you on a three months trial on Monday.’
I couldn’t believe my luck; I hardly concentrated as we discussed hours and salaries, and he told me a bit more about the firm. He was very forceful. It was only when I stood up to go that I realized I was about four inches taller than he was.
‘The agency was right,’ he said. ‘They insisted you were a very classy looking dame.’
I didn’t remember the agency saying any such thing when they telephoned through. They must have rung again after I’d left.
I then took a long 22 bus ride out to Putney where the
The house was large and Victorian on the edge of the common, the front rooms darkened by a huge chestnut
