first trip to Florence than during my whole time at Radley.’
Guido sat down and said he would have expected Xander to have such a beautiful sister. Xander had completely shed his black gloom now. He seemed greatly exhilarated.
‘Guido works at the Wellington Gallery,’ he said. ‘He’s in disgrace at the moment because he put his foot through a Sisley yesterday, stepping back to avoid the attentions of the gallery owner. Another large brandy and some more coffee,’ he added to the waiter.
Guido was staring openly at Xander. His glance had flickered over me and passed on in that dismissive way a man would by-pass the woman’s page in a newspaper, knowing it had nothing to offer him.
‘How is your dear wife?’ he said.
‘Dear,’ said Xander. ‘She’s busy putting in a swimming pool. You must come down for a weekend.’
Suddenly I felt
‘I must go,’ I said.
‘Must you?’ said Xander, but without conviction.
Then he suddenly remembered. ‘I was going to get you some money, wasn’t I? Come on, we’ll go and chat up Freddy, I’ll be right back,’ he said to Guido.
We found Freddy in the bar.
‘Now,’ said Xander, making sure he looked Freddy straight in the eye. ‘Can you cash me a small cheque?’
‘Of course. How much?’
‘?200.’
Freddy didn’t bat an eyelid. He pulled a thick pile of notes in a money clip out of his pockets, and laid twenty tenners on the bar.
‘I’ll have to date the cheque sometime after the first of the month; is that OK?’
‘Sure,’ said Freddy, soothingly. ‘I can always sue you.’
Xander gave me the money and escorted me to the door. I thanked him profusely.
‘Don’t give it a thought,’ he said. ‘Now have a ball with Jeremy Fisher. But keep your options open and your legs shut, and don’t rule out Gareth Llewellyn altogether; he could keep us both in a style to which we’re totally unaccustomed. Don’t you think,’ he jerked his head in the direction of the dining room, ‘that that is quite the most ravishing thing you’ve seen in years?’
‘Yes, he is,’ I said with a sinking heart, ‘but for God’s sake be careful, Xander.’
‘And the same to you, darling. Give me a ring when you get back.’
And he was gone, trying to appear not to be in too much of a hurry to get upstairs.
I felt curiously flat and decided to wander along to Hatchards and buy some highbrow books to impress Jeremy on the boat.
Chapter Five
By Friday evening I was golden brown all over and ready for action. I decided Xander was right, my best tack was to charm Gareth and get him on my side, and at five-thirty I was waiting for him with my three suitcases packed. I was wearing a wickedly expensive pink and white striped blazer with nothing underneath, white trousers, and cherry red boots. The blazer and boots were really both too hot to wear but I was only going to be driving in a car. I felt entirely satisfied with my appearance.
The minutes ticked by. Six came and went, half-past six, a quarter to seven. I vacillated between seething temper that Gareth was late on purpose, and worry that he might have lost my address.
At half-past seven the telephone went. ‘This is Annabel Smith,’ said a husky voice. ‘I’m ringing for Mr Llewellyn.’
‘Where the hell is he?’ I snapped.
‘I’m afraid his meeting is going on longer than expected. Could you possibly jump in a taxi and come over here? The address is Llewellyn House, Great Seaton Street. I’ll meet you on the ground floor and reimburse you for the taxi.’
Oh, the hateful, horrible, utterly bloody man! Why the hell had I piled up my car? No taxis were free when I telephoned, all the mini cabs were booked for the next hour. My make-up was beginning to run in the heat. It was no joke having to hump three huge suitcases into the street and wait half-an-hour for a taxi. My blazer was too hot, my new boots killing me. By the time I reached Llewellyn House I was gibbering with rage.
Mrs Smith, in green, looking as cool as an iced gin and lime, was there to meet me.
‘Come upstairs; you must be exhausted. Someone will put your luggage in Mr Llewellyn’s car. What a perfect weekend for going on the river,’ she said as we climbed in the lift to the fifteenth floor. I had a feeling she was amused.
I was ushered into an office as modern as the hour. There were some good modern paintings on the wall, leather armchairs with chrome legs, one wall covered in books and facing it a vast window, a cinemascopic frame for St Paul’s and the city. How could anyone work with a view like that? Gareth evidently could. He was lounging behind a huge black leather-topped desk, on the telephone as usual, talking execrable French.
He grinned and jabbed a paper in the direction of one of the armchairs. I ignored him and went over to the window. Buses like dinky toys were crawling up Fleet Street.
Mrs Smith came in with a tray. ‘Would you like a drink?’
I didn’t want to take anything of Gareth’s but I needed that drink too badly.
‘Gin and tonic, please.’
She mixed me one with ice and lemon, and then poured a large whisky for Gareth.
He put down the receiver and smiled at me.
‘Hullo, lovely. I’m sorry I’ve messed you about.’ There wasn’t a trace of contrition in his voice. ‘You look stunning. It’s as good as a day in the country just to see you.’
‘I’ve been waiting nearly three hours,’ I spat at him. ‘Shall we go?’
He wandered towards the door taking his whisky with him. ‘I’m going to have a shower first; make yourself at home.’
Mrs Smith brought me some magazines. I thumbed through them furiously, not taking in a word.
It was nine o’clock by the time he came back, looking more like a lorry driver than ever, in jeans and a red shirt. He kissed Mrs Smith very tenderly before we left.
‘I see you believe in mixing business with pleasure,’ I snapped as we went down in the lift.
‘But of course. You wouldn’t expect me to sit looking at some top-heavy frump in basic black all day, would you? That’s a nice blazer you’re wearing. Did you think we were going to Henley?’
‘Oh this, it’s as old as the hills.’ I was damned if I was going to admit I’d bought it that morning.
He reached out his hand towards the back of my neck and pulled something off my collar.
‘Don’t touch me,’ I hissed.
He handed me a price tag with a hundred pounds on it.
‘If this is a cleaning ticket, darling, I’m afraid you’ve been robbed.’
I was furious to find myself blushing.
Outside the vulgarest car I’ve ever seen stood waiting for us, a vast open Cadillac sprayed a brilliant shade of peacock blue. I was surprised he hadn’t hung nodding doggies from the driving mirror.
I had to admit he was a good driver, threading that huge car through the traffic in no time. We were soon out on the M4 speeding towards Oxford.
The sun had set. In the west were great masses of crushed-up rose-coloured clouds. Broad beams of light shone down, reminding me of an old biblical picture. If God were up there this evening dispensing justice, I hoped He’d give Gareth his come-uppance. And He might grant me Jeremy at the same time.
The needle on the speedometer registered a hundred m.p.h.
