Prudence

Initially I could see Jane was impressed by Pendle. He was wearing a grey pinstriped suit which fitted his long greyhound figure to perfection, and his cold seagull’s eyes looked at her without any of the enthusiasm she was accustomed to from men. Here was a challenge. I made a lot of fuss pouring his whisky, running back and forth for water and ice. Usually Jane and I talked ninety to the dozen, but his presence seemed immediately to shut us up.

‘Do you think you’ll win the Westbury case?’ I said, after a long pause. I had been following it in The Times.

‘We might,’ said Pendle, ‘if Lady Westbury can be persuaded to go into the box.’

‘Sounds like a horse,’ said Jane.

‘Why?’ said Pendle.

‘Well some horses are difficult to get into horse boxes, or loose boxes,’ she added, brightening. ‘Do you ride?’

‘Yes,’ said Pendle.

‘Well you must know it’s called a box. Oh, forget it. Pru says you’ve got a gorgeous flat in Westminster.’

‘Yes.’

‘That must be fun. Lots of MPs smuggling in their mistresses. Did you ever meet John Stonehouse?’

‘No,’ said Pendle.

‘Don’t they invite you to orgies?’

Pendle in fact didn’t respond at all and made no attempt to chat her up. The pauses in the conversation became longer and longer. It was with passionate relief that we heard the doodle bug tick tick of a taxi arriving, and an explosion of voices and car doors slamming in the street below. It must be Rodney.

‘He’s bringing Dahlia,’ I said. ‘She’s lovely.’

Rodney arrived with two litres of Pedrotti and no Dahlia. She had evidently got flu. Instead he had brought a beautiful but unbelievably dreary girl from the Publicity Department called Ariadne who lived on weed salads and yoghurt and was permanently talking about diets.

Rodney, a confirmed lecher, had suffered a great shock when his wife had suddenly left him, and had consequently, by way of compensation, taken up even more dedicated lechery and the wearing of self-consciously trendy clothes. Tonight he was resplendent in a dark green velvet cat suit tucked into black boots, and slashed to the waist to show a blond suntanned chest. (He had just been filming in Ibiza.) The suit was a little too tight for him. I wished he’d worn something slightly less outrageous. Pendle was looking at him with distaste, Jane in wonder.

I was in such a state I forgot Ariadne’s name when I tried to introduce her. She needed livening up with a good strong drink, but she insisted on just having water. Had I any idea how many calories there were in alcohol?

‘Oh come on, live a little,’ said Rodney.

‘I’ve lost three inches off my hips since I gave up booze.’

‘Oh Bottom thou art translated,’ said Rodney.

Jane shrieked with laughter. Rodney sensed an ally.

‘What’s this crap you’ve put on the record player?’ he said turning to me.

‘Purcell,’ I said, blushing.

‘Well it won’t wash,’ he said, winking at Jane. ‘For God’s sake take it off and put on something less rarefied. Who else is coming?’ he said, counting the places.

‘Tiger Millfield,’ said Jane.

‘The international?’ said Rodney. ‘I was at school with him. We sat next to each other in chapel for three years.’

‘What was he like?’ said Jane.

‘Never spoke to each other.’

Jane and I laughed. Pendle’s face didn’t flicker.

Rodney took a belt at his whisky and made a face.

‘You’ve put tonic in, darling, instead of soda. You must be in a state.

‘You’ve had a terrible effect on her,’ he added, grinning at Pendle. ‘She’s supposed to flip through the Nationals every morning to see if any of our clients get a mention. All she does is pore over the law reports. Says they’re even better than Crossroads.’

‘Oh, shut up Rodney,’ I said.

‘We’ve worked together for two years,’ Rodney went on, ‘so if you want any gen on her, I’ll give it to you — at a price. Perhaps in return you could give me some advice about my divorce.’

‘I don’t do much divorce work,’ said Pendle, coldly. ‘I’d consult a solicitor if I were you.’

The rudeness was quite blatant. Pendle obviously thought Rodney too silly for words. He got up and looked at the books — far too many of them cheap novels.

Rodney shrugged and winked at Jane, who winked back.

‘Pru never said you were this pretty,’ he said, sitting down beside her and admiring her tits. ‘Have you ever done any modelling? I think you’d have a great future.’

‘I haven’t had a bad past,’ said Jane.

‘I swear by a glass of hot lemon juice first thing in the morning,’ said Ariadne.

‘I swear automatically first thing in the morning,’ said Rodney. ‘I don’t need lemon juice.’

I escaped to the kitchen. Suddenly there seemed a hell of a lot to do. Making the Bearnaise sauce, unwrapping the butter, uncorking bottles of wine, putting on the potatoes and the mange- touts. Two strong drinks didn’t seem to have done anything but make me clumsy. I felt myself getting redder and redder in the face. Oh, why had I been so ambitious? The beef would be ruined if Tiger Millfield didn’t arrive soon.

When I got back Jane and Rodney were nose to nose admiring each other’s cleavages. Pendle was looking grey with boredom. Ariadne was saying, ‘I tried the meat and citrus fruit diet, but it made my breath smell.’

I couldn’t face them. I escaped into the kitchen again, and was just shaking a lettuce out of the window when Jane joined me.

‘Don’t leave them,’ I wailed.

‘Isn’t he fantastic?’ said Jane.

‘Pendle?’ I said brightening.

‘No, Rodney.’

‘What do you think of Pendle?’

‘He doesn’t exactly make one feel at home, does he?’

‘Do you think he fancies me?’

‘Hard to tell. He never takes his eyes off you, but it’s like a cat watching a mouse.’

‘Don’t you think he’s devastating?’

‘Not my type really. Let me have about me men that are fat. Yon Pendle has a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous,’ she finished off, pleased with herself at the comparison.

‘Why haven’t you shelled the peas?’

‘They’re mange-touts,’ I snapped. ‘Well he may not be your type, but what about me?’

‘I preferred your other boyfriend — Charlie, even old Tom.’

‘Charlie and old Tom were slobs,’ I said, shaking the lettuce so furiously that I let go of the cloth and it went sailing out into the street. ‘Now look what you’ve done.’

‘Never mind, there’s so much to eat,’ said Jane soothingly.

‘Where the hell’s Tiger got to?’ I snapped.

The doorbell rang.

Rodney picked up the answer-phone in the drawing-room. ‘It’s the grandest Tiger in the Jungle,’ he said.

‘I must go to the loo,’ said Jane, disappearing into the bathroom. I knew perfectly well she’d gone to tart up.

As I went to answer the door, there was a terrible crash. Tiger had tripped over all the twenty-five milk