bottles I’d put outside in my giant tidy-up for Pendle. He swayed in the doorway with a lettuce leaf on his head. He was very handsome, but also quietly and extremely drunk. Cross-eyed, he confronted his diary.
‘Think I’ve been asked to dinner.’
‘Hello darling,’ said Jane, coming up and kissing him. Removing the lettuce leaf from his head, she took him into the drawing-room and introduced him.
‘Was it a good party?’ said Rodney, looking at him speculatively, sizing up the competition.
‘Think so,’ said Tiger. ‘My cigarette packet’s absolutely covered in telephone numbers.’
‘It’s always been my ambition to play rugger for England,’ said Jane.
‘Mine is to go to work every day reading a pink paper in the back of a chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce,’ said Rodney.
‘Mine is to weigh seven stone,’ said Ariadne.
Rodney, bent on sabotage, poured Tiger the most enormous whisky. Pendle was looking at his watch.
‘We’ll eat in two seconds,’ I said and hared back to the kitchen for a last-minute panic of dishing-up. My medieval sleeves trailed in the Bearnaise sauce, which had started to curdle. Oh, why hadn’t I stuck to jeans? I was frenziedly mashing the potatoes when Rodney came in.
‘I love the way your bottom wiggles when you do that.’ I gritted my teeth.
‘Cook is obviously getting a little unnerved,’ he went on.
‘The same intelligence is required to marshal an army as to cook dinner.’
‘Well, I’m not officer material,’ I snapped.
‘I do like your flatmate,’ said Rodney. He peered into the Bearnaise sauce. ‘I didn’t know we were having scrambled eggs.’
‘Too many cooks spoil the brothel,’ said Jane. ‘I think we ought to eat, Pru darling. Pendle and Tiger are getting on like a piece of damp blotting paper on fire.’
‘Go and sit people down,’ I said, ‘and make sure Pendle doesn’t get the side plate with the rabbits running round, or the three-pronged fork.’
‘Mind out,’ said Jane, pulling Rodney out of the way, ‘or you’ll be run over by a passing capon.’
‘Who’s going to say grace?’ said Jane, as we sat down.
‘Give us this day the will to resist our daily bread,’ said Rodney. ‘I’ve put on a stone in the last three months. I used to be lithe as a panther.’
‘Let me have about me men that are fat,’ said Jane, meaningfully.
‘Have some pate,’ I said to Ariadne.
‘No, I won’t thank you very much. It looks delicious though.’
Now we were in the awful hassle of ‘Have you got butter, toast, pate, tomato salad, pepper? Watch out, the top’s inclined to fall off. Oh dear, you haven’t got a fork; you must have left it in the tomatoes.’
The table was much too small, and everyone was jabbing elbows into everyone else. Ariadne, having nibbled one piece of tomato from which she had shaken all the oil, was watching every bit of food that went into everyone’s mouth like a slavering dog.
‘People don’t realize how fattening cheese is,’ she said to Pendle. ‘No thank you, I won’t have any wine.’
Tiger and Rodney having established they were at school together were swapping anecdotes across me. Jane was hanging on their every word, and not taking any notice of Pendle who was sitting opposite me. I daren’t ask him about work, as I knew Jane and Rodney would start mobbing me up. Suddenly our eyes met, and he gave me that swift wicked smile, and for the first time that evening I felt like not cutting my throat. Stick with me baby, I pleaded with my eyes, I’m not enjoying it any more than you are. But the next moment he had turned back to Ariadne, who was talking about some diet book that had just been published. ‘Butter’s evidently quite all right in moderation,’ she said. She was awfully pretty; perhaps he fancied her.
Tiger’s elbow kept falling off the table, and we all had to wait while he ploughed through a second helping.
‘D’you mind if we look at the box during the News at Ten break?’ asked Rodney, who had several crumbs in his hairy chest. ‘I want to see the Virago Tyre commercial. I keep missing it. Have you seen it?’ he added to Pendle.
‘I don’t watch television,’ said Pendle.
Rodney flipped his lid. ‘That’s what I’ve got against lawyers,’ he howled. ‘Your attitude is positively antedeluvian. How can anyone not watch television in this day and age?’
Oh God, he was about to launch into his anti-legal profession tirade. I leapt to my feet.
‘Could you pass your plate up, darling?’
But Rodney was not to be halted, and when I staggered in with the beef en croute five minutes later he was still at it.
‘My own divorce would have been perfectly amicable; my wife and I might even be struggling on together today if it hadn’t been for lawyers putting their oar in. Everyone should conduct their own defence.’
‘Oh rubbish,’ I said. ‘If Eve had had a decent counsel, we’d probably all still be living in paradise.’
I thought that was quite a bright remark, but no one took any notice. They didn’t like Pendle. They were waiting for Rodney to carve him up.
‘Lawyers are a lot of incompetent hacks,’ said Rodney, ‘blinding people with their own mumbo jumbo. All you care about is reputation. You don’t give a bugger about the issues of the case; you just want to beat other lawyers.’
‘That’s right,’ said Jane.
‘I think PLJ’s a rip-off,’ said Ariadne hopefully. ‘No pastry thank you, Pru.’
Pendle sat very still, looking at Rodney, the expression on his face too complex for me to read its meaning. In spite of twelve hours marinading, the boeuf en croute had overcooked to the consistency of horse meat. Only Tiger seemed to have no trouble with it.
‘The people who control our courts,’ went on Rodney, splashing wine into everyone’s glasses, ‘are a lot of geriatrics in fancy dress. The whole system, in fact, is designed to isolate them from the pressures of modern life. Who, pray, are the Rolling Stones? Christ you’re cushioned against reality.’
‘We deal with murders, rape, divorce every day,’ said Pendle mildly. ‘I’d hardly call that…’
‘Exactly my point,’ interrupted Rodney. ‘You can only deal with the horror of life by turning it into a play with a stage and a cast in period costume.’
‘We haven’t got any napkins,’ said Jane, leaping to her feet.
Rodney was warming up now. ‘Why do legal costs increase as the price of a house increases, although exactly the same amount of paperwork is involved? Why can’t you go to four different lawyers and get estimates for their services? And it’s all geared to the rich, isn’t it? Pay a fine or go to prison, so the rich pay up, and the poor have to go to jug.’
‘Napkins anyone?’ said Jane, coming in with a roll of loo paper and proceeding to break bits off for everyone. I put my head in my hands.
‘It’s time for drastic reform,’ said Rodney, tipping back his chair. ‘The crime rate’s going up and up, the divorce rate’s rocketing and parasites like you are cleaning up.’
Pendle was playing with his knife. Pale, ascetic, watchful, beside Rodney and Tiger he looked like a Jesuit priest among a lot of debauched jolly cardinals.
‘The reason why crime is going up,’ said Pendle softly, ‘is because people have never before been so well informed about what they’re missing. And we’ve got your profession to thank for that. Every time we turn on a television set, or walk down a street, or go in the tube, we’re bombarded by advertisements, tempting us with the promise of a better life. As a result everyone thinks they’ve got a right to a modern kitchen, a new car, a beautiful girl in a cornfield, a happy family life, children in permanently white jeans, a bouncing bright-eyed dog. No wonder marriages break up when people are constantly bombarded by an idealized picture of marital bliss.’
‘Oh don’t give me that old crap,’ spluttered Rodney. ‘Advertising provides a service; we tell the public what’s on the market.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Pendle. ‘You create discontent, envy and avarice. You encourage a constant desire for novelty. Change the packaging, sell the product as new.’
‘Everything is backed up by market research and statistics,’ said Rodney pompously.
‘Advertising people use statistics like a drunk uses a lamp post,’ snapped Pendle. ‘For support rather than
