Prudence (3 page)

‘That was no pouf who attacked me the first night.’

‘Perhaps he’s married and doesn’t want to compromise you.’

‘That’s never deterred any married man I know.’

‘Perhaps he’s shy.’

‘Shy? He’s the coolest thing this side of an iceberg.’

‘So — perhaps he’s serious and doesn’t want to muck it up after the first night’s fiasco.’

‘Wouldn’t that be lovely?’ I sighed. ‘I’ll ask him to dinner and you can tell me what you think.’

Dinner was a catastrophe. Usually I love cooking, but the evening Pendle came round I tried too hard. I asked Rodney, my boss, who’s a bit finger-snapping and aggressively trendy, but a giggle when he gets tanked up, and another smashing zany girl copywriter from the agency called Dahlia, who can be guaranteed to make any party go. Jane had asked a man she fancied in her office, who was very witty as well as being a Liberal MP. All week I had fantasies of Jane and I sitting round looking radiant by candlelight, and contributing the odd remark as the conversational ball bounced scintillatingly along.

Usually when people came to dinner, we ate lounging on cushions in front of the fire, and Jane made jokes about having to lay the floor, but that night I polished up the gateleg table, and laid it with candles and flowers. When Jane arrived home I was rolling out pastry with a milk bottle.

‘How’s it going?’

‘All right, except I’ve made too much.’

‘Never mind. Henry can’t come, so I’ve asked this fantastic guy I met at a party last night. He’s called Tiger Millfield. Isn’t that great? And he plays rugger for England, so I’m sure he’ll eat for at least fifteen.’

‘Oh dear, I hope he and Pendle get on.’

‘What’s in here?’ said Jane, tripping over a casserole on the floor. There was so little room in our kitchen.

‘The filet for the boeuf en croute, mopping up a vat of Nuits St Georges,’ I said airily. ‘Now everyone can say I marinaded beneath me.’

Jane groaned. ‘You have got him bad. Candles, flowers, gin, whisky. Jolly good thing it’s the beginning of the month. What else are we having?’

‘Pâté and tomato salad to start with, then the beef, and peaches soaked in white wine to finish up with.’

Jane’s mouth watered. ‘What about the finger bowls and the waterlily napkins?’ she said. ‘I’m surprised you aren’t dressing Rodney up as a butler.’

I ignored her and went into the drawing-room to give the gate leg table a last polish with my skirt.

‘Do you think I ought to put Pendle or Rodney on my right?’ I shouted. ‘Rodney’s been married. Does that take precedence over a bachelor?’

‘I really don’t know. I’d better go and change into something suitably gracious.’

‘There’s still masses to do,’ I wailed.

‘Well I’d better not distract you then.’

Somehow at five to eight I was ready. I’d even bought a new dress for the occasion, long and medieval looking, in rust-coloured velvet, with an embroidered panel at the front, and long trumpet sleeves. I kept having another fantasy about Pendle staying long after everyone else, drawing me into his arms and saying, ‘Really, there’s no end to your achievements.’

‘That’s nice,’ said Jane, admiring the dress. ‘The Lady of Shallot! Appropriate too, after all those onions you’ve been chopping. You’d better take the price off.’

Jane was wearing very tight jeans, no bra, and a blue T-shirt, which matched her blue eyes, and made her nipples stand out like acorns. She looked far better than me. My beastly face kept flushing up and clashing with the rust.

Bang on the dot of eight, the doorbell rang. Jane picked up the answer-phone.

‘It’s Pendle,’ she said, ‘raring to get at you.’

With shaking hands, I put a new Purcell record on the gramophone.

Jane giggled. ‘Are we all going to dance the Gavotte?’

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 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 pâté,’ 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, pâté, 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.’