‘No, I know.’ Kitty hung her head. There didn’t seem any point adding that Rannaldini was separated from Cecilia by the time she’d gone to work for him.
‘Anyway,’ went on Nikki, fishing, ‘Marigold’s got some rough trade in tow, hasn’t she?’
Nikki, in fact, was iffy about this development. The boys had banged on and on about Lysander all weekend and, having written off Marigold as a sexless old bag, Nikki disliked any proof that she might be able to attract even rough trade. On the other hand, if she did find someone, it would save Larry a great deal of guilt and alimony. Nikki had been so certain Larry was going for a quicky divorce — she’d even planned her dress, cream silk, for the Registry Office.
And there he was scowling and clutching his speech, his hair all tousled. No-one would think he was worth billions.
‘See you in a bit,’ murmured Nikki, and sliding over to Larry, taking his hand in the darkness, she placed it under her gathered velvet skirt straight on to her damp pubic hair.
‘Come on, make me come, I dare you,’ she whispered.
That should obliterate all thoughts of Marigold.
13
‘D’you think we should arraive together?’ said Marigold, overcome by a sudden fit of respectability as she signed her name in the visitors’ book. ‘Ay mean Ay am Larry’s wife. All his staff will be there. What’s everyone goin’ to say?’
‘They’ll say, “Hallo, Marigold, Hallo, Lysander,”’ giggled Lysander, who’d been smoking a joint in the car.
As they entered the party, the room went still.
‘Hallo, Marigold, Hallo, Lysarnder,’ said Hermione loudly.
Larry whipped his hand from Nikki’s bush as if it were a wasps’ nest, for across the room was the Marigold he’d first fallen in love with, but ten times more beautiful.
Who is he? Who is he? Shaken out of their cool, everyone in the room was frantically trying to identify Lysander.
‘Kerist,’ exploded the Catchitune Sales Director. ‘It’s the boss’s wife.’
‘Lucky thing,’ said Denise the receptionist.
A favourite has no friends. Nikki, since she had taken up with Larry, had snubbed senior and junior secretaries alike and banned executives from Larry’s presence. Marigold, on the other hand, had always been kind. She had written to Larry’s staff when they married or had babies, and been sweet even to the lowest packer at office parties. With the increasingly dark cloud of recession, they felt Marigold would not have let them starve. So they now converged on her joyfully telling her how marvellous she looked, and having a really good butcher’s at Lysander. It therefore took Marigold several minutes to reach Georgie. Ignoring a hovering Larry, resisting the temptation to tuck in his shirt and throttle him with his silly gold necklace, she flung herself on her great friend, telling her how wonderful she looked and how much she adored the album.
‘Oh Georgie, Ay’m so proud of you and for Guy, too. It’s such a wonderful celebration of your love for each other.’
‘Great party,’ said Lysander, who managed to have eyes for no-one but Marigold, but also on stalks for all the famous people he wanted to meet. ‘There’s Dancer Maitland, and Steve Wright and Simon Bates, and all the cast of
Rootling round in Marigold’s bag in a gesture of casual intimacy, he found a pen and Marigold’s diary, out of which he tore a page and handed it to Georgie.
‘Why are they playing this junk instead of
‘It’s evidently uncool to play one’s own music,’ sighed Georgie.
‘Bollocks! It’s your party.’
Georgie turned to Marigold. ‘You look amazing, twenty years younger. Whatever happened?’
‘He did,’ said Marigold, taking Lysander’s arm.
‘Lucky thing,’ Georgie laughed as though this was a huge joke.
‘How are the children?’ asked Marigold.
‘Well, Flora’s been at Bagley Hall since January,’ said Georgie, ‘so she’ll be near by when we move to Paradise. It’s co-ed, so I hope she’s managing to do some work. Melanie’s in Australia bankrupting us with reverse-charged calls. And your two?’ asked Georgie, who never remembered names.
‘Both at prep school,’ said Marigold.
Hermione was having a bad party. None of the pop music press were remotely interested that she was doing
‘How was Paris?’ she asked Marigold.
‘Oh, lovely. We stayed at the Ritz.’
‘Did you go to the Pompidou?’
‘No.’
And when Marigold and Lysander hadn’t been to any of the operas or concerts Hermione suggested, she said patronizingly, ‘You must have gone to some decent restaurants?’
‘We just used room service at the Ritz,’ said Lysander.
‘The only thing flambeeing in our suite was me,’ giggled Marigold.
The next moment they were joined by Guy and Larry, both unnerved by the juxtaposition of Georgie and Marigold.
‘Are you an actor?’ asked Guy.
‘No. Lysander plays polo and raydes in races,’ said Marigold. ‘He loves horses.’
‘Particularly bonking dead ones,’ said Lysander, kissing Marigold. Then turning to Hermione, he asked blandly, ‘How’s Dildo and Aeneas going, Helena?’
Determined not to betray her rage, Hermione grabbed Lysander’s arm. ‘Come and meet Nikki. You two must be the same age.’
The stirring cow, thought Marigold, as Lysander was dragged off into the gloom.
‘What are Flora and Melanie doing now?’ she said.
‘You’ve just asked me that,’ said Georgie, drawing Marigold aside. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Fine,’ said Marigold.
‘You’re not. You’re shaking.’
‘Larry’s having the most terrific affaire,’ mumbled Marigold. ‘He wants a divorce and me out of Paradise.’
‘Christ, you poor darling. I’d no idea. Larry’s a bastard. Who is she?’
‘Nikki. That blonde being introduced to Lysander.’
‘Oh.’ Georgie peered through the gloom. ‘She did a number on me in the Ladies. Very plain and frumpy, I thought.’
‘She’s trying to look like a waife tonight,’ sighed Marigold. ‘Normally she exudes sex.’
‘Lysander doesn’t think so,’ said Georgie. ‘He’s done a U-turn. Wow, he’s good looking.’
‘OK?’ Lysander took Marigold’s hand.
‘Can I borrow you, Panda?’ Guy called over, sensing trouble. ‘Dempster wants a word.’
‘What did you think of Nikki?’ Marigold couldn’t resist asking.
‘Gross,’ said Lysander, beckoning to a waitress to fill up Marigold’s glass. ‘Looks as though she fell off the back of a Larry.’
Marigold burst out laughing.
‘Scuse me, Mr Maguire.’ An
