Jilly Cooper - Harriet

‘Your coccyx,’ said Mark and laughed rather wildly. He already seemed a bit high.

‘Are there lots of people there?’ she said.

‘About a couple of dozen, including one or two predatory ladies who won’t be at all pleased that you’ve appeared on the scene.’

He shot her a sideways glance and laughed again.

Harriet felt nervous and excited at the same time.

‘Do you think I ought to go?’

‘It’s more than my life’s worth if you don’t. Not that it’s worth a lot anyway,’ he said, taking a bottle of brandy out of the dashboard and taking a swig. ‘I’m going down hill faster than a greased pig as it is.’

‘I wish I could go home and change,’ said Harriet.

‘Don’t change a thing. What Simon likes is novelty and you’re certainly different.’

‘He’s only being kind because he knocked me off my bike.’

‘Simon,’ said Mark, ‘never does anything to please anyone except himself.’

Harriet had never seen anything like Simon’s drawing room — with its shaggy fur rugs, huge tropical plants, emerald green silk curtains and roaring fire which flickered on the French paperbacks — mostly plays and pornography — in the bookshelves. Invitations were stacked like a pack of cards on the mantelpiece. Signed photographs of famous actors and actresses looked down from the black walls. Glamorous people prowled about the room like beasts in a jungle. Then, most glamorous of all Simon, his blue-green eyes glittering, came over to welcome them.

He removed Harriet’s coat, then her scarf, then her spectacles.

‘I don’t want you to see my imperfections too clearly,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Isn’t she sweet?’ he added to Mark.

‘Yes,’ said Mark. ‘Much too sweet for you. That’s worrying me.’

A handsome Indian strolled up to them.

‘I wish you hadn’t painted this room black,’ he said petulantly. ‘I don’t show up against it.’

‘Go and stand in the snow,’ said Simon.

He gave Harriet a glass of ice-cold white wine, running his finger caressingly along her fingers as he did so.

‘That should cool you up,’ he said. ‘How was Theo? Did he like your essay?’

‘He seemed to — for once.’

‘What was it about?’

‘Which of Shakespeare’s heroes was — well — the b-best in bed.’

‘Bloody old letch excites himself that way. I suppose you’re an authority on bed now?’

Harriet looked at her feet. There was a pause, then she glanced up at Simon and encountered a look that nearly took her skin off. Crimson, she turned to look out of the window.

‘The snow’s so beautiful, isn’t it?’ she said in a choked voice.

‘We aim to please,’ he said smiling at her. ‘Sit down and enjoy the view. You don’t need to meet any of these boring people.’

Harriet parked herself on a black velvet window seat, trying to merge into the green silk curtains. She had never seen so many exotic people, and the room smelt so exotic too. Not only must every pulse spot of each ravishing creature be throbbing with expensive scent, there was also the smell of the apple logs burning in the grate, a faint whiff of incense, and the heavy fragrance of a huge bunch of rainbow-coloured freesias massed in a blue bowl on the table. There was another, sweet, clinging smell she couldn’t identify.

Suddenly there was a terrific pounding on the door, and a handsome man with grey hair walked in. Harriet immediately recognized him as the leading actor at the playhouse this week.

‘Simon darling, just knew this was your room. You can smell the stuff all the way down the street. You’ll get busted if you’re not careful. Hullo baby,’ he added to a stunning blonde in a white silk shirt, and, taking a cigarette from her lips, inhaled deeply. When he breathed out about two years later, he turned to two elegant young men who were following him.

‘They’re both called Jeremy,’ he said to Simon. ‘And they’re madly in love with each other, which makes things a bit complicated.’

The two young men giggled.

‘Jeremy and Jeremy,’ said the handsome actor. ‘You haven’t met Simon.’

‘We’ve heard so much about you,’ said the young men in chorus. ‘Quite the rising star, aren’t you?’

‘Simon,’ said a sulky-looking redhead with a mouth like a rubber tyre, ‘can’t we draw the curtains? All the plebs are looking in.’

‘My friend here,’ said Simon, giving Harriet a smile, ‘enjoys the view, so we’ll leave the curtains open.’

The redhead exchanged glances with the blonde in the white shirt.

‘How’s Borzoi, Simon?’ said the actor taking another drag at the blonde’s cigarette.

‘Gone to the States,’ said Simon.

‘For long?’

‘For good I hope,’ said Simon, filling Harriet’s glass.

The actor raised his well-plucked eyebrows.

‘Like that, is it? Imagine she was a bit of a handful.’

‘At least if she tries to come back, she’s such a bitch she’ll have to spend six months in quarantine,’ said Simon.

Everyone laughed. More people arrived. Harriet watched the undercarriage of the gulls dark against the sky. The railings in the street were losing their shape now.

‘I must do something about my hair,’ said a wild-looking brunette.

‘You could try brushing it,’ said her boyfriend.

Simon, the actor and the two Jeremys started swapping such scurrilous stories of stars of stage and screen that everyone stopped their conversations to listen.

‘Not boys, my dear, two girls at a time. His wife doesn’t mind; she’s got her own girlfriend anyway,’ said the actor.

‘I bet she minded her notices last week; they were ghastly,’ said one of the Jeremys.

‘Evidently in her costume she looks just like the Emperor Vespasian in drag,’ said Simon. Harriet’s eyes were out on stalks.

A rather ravaged beauty came through the door, wearing a fur coat and trousers. No-one took any notice, so she went out and came in again.

‘Deirdre,’ everyone shrieked.

‘I’m exhausted,’ she said. ‘I haven’t been to bed.’

‘Darling,’ said the actor, kissing her. ‘I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.’

Someone put on a record.

‘My very good friend the milkman says, that I am losing too much sleep,’ sang Fats Waller.

Mark Macaulay came and sat down by Harriet, and filled up her glass.

‘How’s your coccyx?’ he asked. ‘I ought to work this afternoon, but I shan’t.’

‘What are you going to do after schools?’ said Harriet.

‘I thought of having a stab at a Dip.Ed.’

‘I didn’t know you wanted to teach, Markie,’ shrieked Deirdre. ‘You hate children.’

‘I know, but a Dip.Ed’ll give me another year to look around. They don’t work one very hard, and by the end of another year, one might have decided what one wants to do.’

‘I’ve got an interview with a military publisher next week,’ said a boy in jeans with flowing blond hair. ‘I expect they’re awfully straight. Have you got a suit you can lend me?’

‘Simon has,’ said Mark. ‘You’d better get a haircut too.’

The snow had deadened the roar of the traffic in the Turl to a dull murmur. A little bunch of protest marchers were struggling down the street with placards.

‘The acne and anorak brigade,’ said Mark. ‘What are they banning this time, reds or fascists?’

‘More jobs for teachers, I think,’ said Harriet, trying to see without her glasses.

‘Aren’t they just like Good King Wenceslas and his page?’ said Deirdre. ‘Through the rude wind’s loud lament and all that.’

‘I’m sure Wenceslas had something going with his page boy,’ said Simon.

‘I wish I had principles,’ said Mark, looking at the marchers.

‘I like people better than principles,’ said Simon, ‘and I like people with no principles best of all.’

‘Oscar Wilde,’ muttered Harriet.

‘Clever girl,’ said Simon. ‘Dorian Gray’s my next part. OUDS are doing an adaptation.’

He’ll be marvellous at it, thought Harriet, watching him move off to fill someone’s drink. Even amidst the glittering menagerie of tigers he surrounded himself with, his beauty made him separate.

Two girls looked out of the window.

‘That car’s been parked there for ages,’ they said, ‘let’s go down and write something awful all over it.’

They rushed out of the door, and a minute later their shrieks could be heard, as, lifting their slim legs up like Hackney ponies, they raced across the snow.

On the wall opposite was pinned a poster of a beautiful girl with long streaky hair and cheekbones you could balance a tray on.

‘Who’s that?’ she said to Mark.

‘Borzoi, Simon’s ex,’ he said.

‘Why did they split up?’

‘Inevitable, darling. They both spent far too much time arguing with the mirror which was the fairest of them both. Borzoi’s doing better than Simon too, at the moment, and that doesn’t help. She’s also extremely spoilt.’

He looked at Harriet in amusement. ‘That’s why he fancies you.’

‘He couldn’t.’

‘Sure he does, and that’s what’s making Chloe so uptight.’ He nodded his head in the direction of the sulky redhead who was flirting determinedly on the sofa with the handsome actor. ‘She was convinced she was next in succession.’

Oh golly, thought Harriet, but the warm excited feeling inside her persisted.

Back came the two girls from the snow.

‘I only got as far as “Bugg”,’ shrieked one, ‘when a policeman came along.’

‘Everything looks so white and virginal,’ said the other, huddling by the fire.