Jilly Cooper - Appassionata

‘Sorry, mate,’ he turned Marcus’s photograph to the wall. ‘You’ve lucked out on this one.’

As he wandered back into the living-room, he was pleased to see the silhouettes of his Second Horn and Cathie Jones become one under the stars on the balcony. It would make up for nicking Blue’s shirt.

Peter Plumpton, totally naked, was now mincing around with an upended bread basket on his head.

‘D’you thenk it’s suitable for Escot?’ he was asking, to howls of drunken laughter.

Abby’s other suitors, having failed to beat her at poker, were getting desperate. El Creepo, who wanted the two thousand for a big screen for his porn videos, was clumsily trying to chat her up.

‘What brassière size d’you take Abby?’

‘Don’t insollt my woman,’ howled Viking, grabbing El Creepo by his food-stained lapels.

‘Don’t, Viking, your tooth,’ screamed Abby, as El Creepo raised a nervous fist.

Diversion was provided by a mighty splash from next door as the brass section threw a fully dressed Dirty Harry into the jacuzzi because they thought he needed a bath.

All the other revellers surged into the bathroom, with El Creepo sidling hastily after them, leaving Viking and Abby gazing at each other.

‘Am I?’ she whispered.

‘What?’

‘Your woman?’

‘Sure you are.’

Unnerved by his nearness, Abby reached for her champagne, but Viking caught her wrist and emptied the glass into a vase of chrysanthemums.

‘No more,’ he said softly. ‘It dolls the senses, you don’t need Dottch courage with me.’

Abby was always banging on about the importance of bonding. Next door, it was more a case of James Bonding, as the rest of the party stripped off with squeals of glee to see how many of them could jump into the jacuzzi so the water spilled over, turning the blue shag-pile into a soggy pond.

‘I’ve always longed to go skinny-dipping,’ yelled Ninion.

‘And I’ve always wanted to go fatty-dipping,’ screamed Isobel, erupting from the wardrobe, breasts flying like duffle-bags, landing amid the heaving flesh, dispatching the last of the water.

‘Quite extraordinary, pure Rubens,’ said Old Henry, putting on his spectacles to walk round the jacuzzi.

‘Who killed Cock Rubens?’ shouted Dixie, active at the back of the scrum, to more cackles of laughter.

Davie Buckle sat beside them on the loo with the seat down swigging from a bottle of Dubonnet and telephoning Japan. Everyone jumped as Militant Moll stomped in, dressed for bed in men’s wool striped pyjamas and leather slippers.

‘Anyone seen Ninion?’

‘No,’ chorused the heaving flesh.

Burying his face gratefully in Isobel’s massive breasts, Ninion prayed Moll wouldn’t recognize his skinny flanks.

‘He said he was going to Mass in one of the cathedrals,’ called out Miss Parrott.

‘Plenty of steeples round here,’ giggled Clare.

‘You’re despicable,’ thundered Moll, marching out to rousing cheers. ‘Can’t you see how this degrades women?’

‘Get us some more hooch, Davie, love,’ asked Randy who was busy degrading Candy. ‘Just give room service a bell.’

‘Got to cock in with Brün’ilde,’ mumbled Davie, redialling.

‘Tum, ta, ta, tum, tum, tum, ta, ta, tum, tum,’ yelled the RSO to The Ride of the Valkyries.

‘You get the booze, Lincoln, you’re the youngest,’ Dixie ordered the Fifth Horn, who was sitting on the edge of the jacuzzi, in his Y-fronts, sadly gazing into space.

Opening the wardrobe and finding Simon Painshaw and Peter Plumpton passed out in each other’s arms, Lincoln hastily shut the door, and staggered into Abby’s bedroom where he found Little Jenny in tears on the bed.

‘I thought you loved me.’

‘I do, I do.’ Lincoln collapsed on the bed beside her.

Viking would throttle him, but he couldn’t keep the secret any longer.

‘Two thousand pounds would have paid off my overdraft,’ he admitted finally, ‘paid a deposit on a flat, and bought you an engagement ring, because, oh Jenny, I want to marry you.’

‘Did you say engagement ring?’ yelped Jenny, blowing her nose on Abby’s scarf. ‘Oh please, oh yes please.’

Having kissed her at length, Lincoln staggered to his feet.

‘Let’s go to my room, Cherub won’t be back for hours. I’ll go and find the key.’

Looking for stray bottles of drink in Abby’s bedroom, Candy found Jenny, gargling with Abby’s mouthwash and spraying Amarige on her bush.

‘You’ll never guess why they’ve all been chasing Abby,’ she whispered. ‘Promise you won’t tell anyone?’

Candy promised.

‘Randy wanted some new golf clubs,’ Jenny was still explaining two minutes later.

‘I’ll club him,’ screeched Candy, storming back to the jacuzzi.

‘Found it,’ cried Lincoln, waving his room key.

‘Why are you carrying Cherub’s clothes?’ asked Jenny.

‘It’ll take him longer to get back to our room,’ said Lincoln.

As none of the sorties for more booze had been successful, Francis was dispatched on yet another recce.

‘Lady in buff, Lady in buff,’ said the RSO, swaying to the tune of ‘Lady in Red’.

Going into the sitting-room to round up any spare drink, Francis discovered Abby and Viking kissing the life out of each other. They looked so beautiful. Viking was stroking Abby’s cheek as though he was rubbing the earth away from some long-buried Grecian urn. The blaze of triumph on his face made Francis reach for his dark glasses.

Oh fuck, groaned Francis. Bang went poor darling Janey’s hip operation. Never had he found it harder to be a good loser.

When he returned, the revellers fell on his armful of bottles.

‘Viking’s won the two grand,’ he murmured sadly to Old Henry.

For a second, Isobel stopped French kissing Ninion.

‘Viking’s always been too grand,’ she said dismissively.

‘It was Catch 25 situation,’ sighed Dimitri, emptying a whole bottle of Amarige into the steadily overflowing jacuzzi. ‘I vanted to take you to Petersburg, but I love you too much to vin sweepstake.’

‘You can take me to Paradise instead,’ cried Miss Parrott. ‘Oh my wonderful, wonderful Whayte Russian.’

Viking was not happy about the contrast between Abby’s seven-room suite, and the cupboard he was sharing with Blue which was stuffy, airless, shaken with stamping music from the Flamenco night-club opposite and already littered with his discarded possessions.

He felt as though he was shoving a beautiful bird of paradise into a bantam coop. But he had no time to fret. The pack, in their last-ditch scramble for their prize money, would be soon on his trail.

‘You have the choice of two ironing boards,’ he said, unbuttoning his heavenly blue shirt.

Abby shoved the beds together.

‘We can make love across them.’

‘A woman of experience.’

‘Only of hotel bedrooms. I toured for four years. They provided French champagne and baskets of fruit but nothing as appealing as-’ the words died on her lips. The fastest undresser in the world, Viking kicked off his shorts with one foot and caught them on his upright cock.

‘That’s awful neat,’ said Abby in admiration.

‘It was a trick of Rodney’s.’

Oh shit, what a time to remind her.

Abby collapsed on the bed, her face crumpling.

‘Perhaps we shouldn’t with Rodney just-’

She gazed up, her eyes huge, enflamed, anguished.

‘Rodney’s ondyng wish,’ Viking crossed his fingers behind his back, ‘was for us to end op together. I expect the old dote’s already installed a two-way mirror in the floor of heaven so he can watch us.’

‘He wanted us to be together? Are you sure?’

‘Quite.’ Ducking Jove’s thunderbolts, Viking peeled off Abby’s orange vest. ‘Jesus, you’re lovely, darling.’ Tipping back the yellow bedside lamp, he lifted one warm gold breast wonderingly, then let it drop.

But, as he unzipped her suede skirt, Abby hung her head, uncharacteristically shy and terrified, the giraffe finally cornered by poachers.

‘You need a tranquillizing dart, my darling,’ Viking stroked her quivering shoulders, talking to her softly. ‘You have no idea how stonning you look, or how beautiful it’s going to be.’