Authors: Simon Brooke
Model Guy (27 page)
She opens the door of
a large bedroom and I follow her in.
"Now, quick, take
that wet shirt off and I'll have someone put it in to soak."
"Really, Lady Huntsman,
it's drying already."
"Nonsense, it's soaked
through. You'll catch your death."
"Well, have you got
a hairdryer or something?" I suggest. "That would probably do it."
"A hairdryer? Don't
be ridiculous. Take it off. Quick, quick. I'll go and find one of James' shirts.
Be right back." She disappears through another door.
It is getting quite uncomfortable
- cold and sticky - so I undo my tie and take off my cufflinks. I put them on a
nearby table and slip off my shirt and make a gesture towards folding it. I lay
it on the bed but then decide that it might soak through and so I put it on a chair.
Bloody Nora! Bloody, buggering Nora.
Lady Huntsman shouts something
from the other room.
"Er, sorry?"
I call after her.
"I said I'd do anything
for badgers, absolutely anything, wouldn't you?"
"Erm, well, it depends
on what circumstances..."
She pops her head round
the door.
"Mind you, I am a
woman of extreme views," she declares.
"Mmm, I'm sure,"
I say. "I can appreciate that."
She looks at me for a
moment and then disappears again.
Feeling slightly exposed,
I fold my arms. Then unfold them. Then I swing them by my sides and then fold them
again. Aren't arms a nuisance sometimes? I wait around a bit more and then call
out: "Erm, Lady Huntsman?"
No answer.
What the hell is she doing?
I turn round and potter around the room a bit. Absentmindedly I look into the half
open door of a wardrobe as if Piers might be lurking in there. I suddenly sense
Lady Huntsman standing behind me so I turn round quickly.
"Oh, hallo,"
I say unnecessarily.
She's there alright but
where's the shirt?
"You obviously play
a lot of sport," she says, eyeing me up.
"Um, well, sometimes,
er, you know, used to."
"Well, you certainly
keep fit."
Quite what happens next,
I'm not sure, but it seems like she has fifteen pairs of hands. Her lips are on
mine and I can smell her perfume and feel her soft, well-powdered skin against me.
"Lady...argh!...Huntsman...please."
"Shut up. Make love
to me."
"I -"
But she's kissing me again,
hard and deep, her hands pulling at my hair.
"You said you were
going to make the party swing."
"It wasn't actually
me who said that, ow, if you remember, it was Nora. I don't know what -" A
bit of a fine distinction given our current situation, even I must admit.
"And all that crap
about badgers? People always use badgers to get to me."
"What?"
Then her lips leave mine
and she is on her knees unbuttoning my fly. "Lady Huntsman, please. Oh, my
God. Look, please don't erm, take this the wrong way." Suddenly my trousers
are around my ankles and she is pulling at my undies. "Look, just -" Now
I'm on the ground on my back, trying to pull myself away from her with my elbows.
I don't want to be any more forceful in case I hurt her but she's quite strong for
a woman of her age, especially one with such a slim build - and she's bloody persistent
I'll give her that.
With a sharp tug she has
yanked my underpants down and her lips are travelling up my thigh, her hand finding
my cock and beginning to work it manically. Just then the door opens and Sir James
looks in. I'm partly horrified, partly relieved. "Oh, my God," wails a
weak, high pitched voice, which I suppose, by process of elimination (he's not saying
anything, she has her mouth full) must be mine.
This is it. What could
a rich, powerful man do to you, if he found you assaulting his wife? He must have
some of the best lawyers in the land at his disposal. He'd make sure I never worked
at anything again. I'd have to leave the country. But instead of looking horrified
or angry he looks vaguely disappointed.
"Oh," he says.
"We'll use the spare room, then,"
'We' turns out to be Annabelle
the management consultant who specialises in the personal finance sector. She peeps
round the door after him, looks stunned for a moment and then is obviously dragged
off to the spare room.
"There are clean
sheets on the bed," calls Lady Huntsman after him. I make the most of this
interruption, turn over and do a sort of sprinter's start away from her. I throw
myself against the far wall and get my breath back.
We eye each other for
a moment. Then I reach over to the table where I put my shirt, throw the shirt off
it and pick it up, legs pointing at Lady Huntsman, lion tamer style.
"Honestly,"
she says, pulling herself up into a standing position. "What's wrong with you
boys these days? Is it all this new man rubbish or something?"
"No, I'm sorry, it's
just that I'm going out with someone," I tell her, gasping for breath and wandering
if I can safely get to the door without her trying another rugby tackle on me. She
looks remarkably unruffled considering the struggle we just engaged in.
"Oh, so what? I'm
married to someone. Live a little, why don't you?"
"Sorry, it's nothing
personal."
"Is it AIDS? I've
got condoms."
"No, it's..."
I can hardly tell her she's old enough to be my mother and I don't fancy her. "I'm,
er, just not in the mood. I wasn't expecting... sorry", I mutter girlishly,
pulling up my trousers up as well as I can with one hand and edging out of the door.
I put the table down and scurry out. "Sorry," I mutter again. Outside
I manage to do up my fly and get my shirt on.
"Crikey." It's
Alex. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Just changing my
shirt," I gasp. "Someone spilt something down it."
"And your trousers,
too?"
"Yes. Bit of an accident."
"I was just looking
for the loo," he says, suspiciously.
"It's in here,"
I tell him, jerking my head back towards the door I've just come out of. I move
aside to let him past. Warily, he nods a curt thank you. As soon as he is in and
I hear him say: "Oh! Lady Huntsman, I'm so sorry, I thought -" I pull
the door shut and scamper off to find a quiet corner to finish getting dressed in.
I open a door further
down the corridor and step in to a silent, darkened room and switch on the light.
I see a pair of female legs sticking upwards. In between them is my dad's friend
Grey. He glances around at me and then looks up at the owner of the legs.
"For Christ's sake,
don't any of the bloody doors lock in this house?" he asks her.
"No, obviously not,
now shut up and get on with it," she says.
I withdraw, slip back
into the corridor and bump into Nora.
"Oh," she says.
"What happened to you?"
I laugh bitterly.
"I met you."
She ignores this comment.
"You look worse than
before. Did you get a clean shirt?"
"I got everything
but."
"She try it on?"
asks Nora looking slightly pained.
"Yeah, she bloody
did. Fuck! How embarrassing, she just leapt on me. Hang on let me do my shirt up."
"It was the badgers
thing, I think."
"What? What have
they got to do with anything?"
"Her badger meetings.
It's well known: they just get together at country houses, all these so-called badger
enthusiasts, and just, you know, get off with each other. It's like a code for upper
class swingers: 'Are you interested in badger conservation?' It means are you up
for it? I was going to write a piece about but -"
"All right, I get
the picture." I finish tucking in my shirt. "I can't believe you knew
she was going to do that."
"Well, I certainly
had an inkling. Didn't you see her eyes light up when I mentioned you and badgers?
Anyway, more importantly, did she mention Piers?"
"No funnily enough
she didn't, she had her mouth full and I'm afraid I didn't manage to broach the
subject as I was trying to force her lips off my di- off my, er, lips."
"Shame."
"Oh, shit, my mobile,
where is it?"
"Who are you going
to ring?"
"Never mind."
Why shouldn't she know? "I'm just going to call my girlfriend, Lauren."
"Is it not in your
jacket?" asks Nora, blandly.
"No, it must have
fallen out in the struggle."
"It'll be in there
then."
"Well done. Good
detective work."
"Just nip in and
get it."
"I can't, not with
her in there."
"Oh, for goodness
sake," sighs Nora and she sets off along the corridor to Lady Huntsman's bedroom.
I'm just about to call her back when I realise that in fact it will bloody well
serve her right. I see her open the door warily and put her head round it.
"Oh, Alex, hi,"
she says and then I hear her gasp: "Oh, is that you Lady Huntsman? I didn't
recognise you." She turns her head to one side. "Sorry, don't mind me,
I'm just looking for a mobile phone, ah, here it is, sorry, see you later. Oh, lovely
party by the way." She emerges again, frowning as she comes towards me. "Well
that's a sight that'll stay with me for a while. God, she's supple for a woman of
her age,though. I don't think I could manage that. She must do a lot of yoga or
something. Anyway, here's your phone. It's a bit wet I'm afraid."
"Thanks."
She takes off her glasses
and begins to polish them on the folds of material of her lacy black dress. Once
again she looks like no one else at the party but she does have a certain style.
Then she puts her glasses back on again and pushes her diamante hair slide around
a bit. She looks up at me with her big dark, inscrutable eyes.
"Well, I'll leave
you to make your phone call," she says.
I'm ringing my girlfriend
Nora.
"OK."
"I'll keep mingling
and maybe see you later."
"Yes, sure,"
I say. "I'll go outside and ring from there."
I leave Nora to carry on mingling and step onto the terrace which
overlooks a bigger garden than anyone in London has the right to own. I look up
at the house ablaze with light and then call Lauren. The phone rings a couple of
times and then the answer machine clicks in. I knew it! I fucking knew it! She's
out with Peter.
Then the phone is picked
up clumsily: "Hello?" says a sleepy voice.
"Lauren? Hi, it's
me."
"Oh, hi babe. Where
are you? What time is it?"
"It's..." I
check my watch in the light from the house. It's 11.45pm. "Oh, sorry, it's
nearly midnight."
"Oh, Charlieeee.
What's the matter? Are you all right? Why are you ringing so late? I've got to get
up early tomorrow for a casting in docklands."
"Sorry, I just wanted
to hear your voice."
"Oh, right. When
will you be home?"
"Very soon, night,
hon."
"Night."
She puts the phone down.
"You in trouble with
the missus?"
I spin round but I can't
see anyone in the gloom.
"Hello?"
"You shouldn't have
fucked my mother then should you?"
"Hello? Who's that?"
The smell of pot floats
through the summer air. Finally a face emerges from the darkness of the shrubbery.
A girl in her twenties, long dark hair. A face that is still girlish. Pale skin,
pretty but for a sad, sulky mouth. She takes another drag on her joint.
"Feel better now
you've rung your wife?" she asks knowingly.
"I haven't fucked
your mother," I tell her, more intrigued than cross.
"Really? Apparently
she was last seen dragging you upstairs."
"You're Lady Huntsman's
daughter."
"Well done."
She waits for a moment and extends a hand. "Anastasia." We shake.
"Charlie, Charlie
Barrett."
She looks at me for a
moment.
