Bella Summer Takes a Chance (24 page)

‘Why doesn’t he just use a normal garage like other people?’

‘He needed the room for the home cinema.’ She rolled her eyes.

I was immensely looking forward to the evening. Some people provided such a rich seam for parody. ‘What a shame Fred couldn’t come. He’d love this, but I’m happy to be his alternate. I’m really glad things seem to be going so well between you.’

She grinned. ‘Thanks, me too. It’s remarkable what can happen when you let go of all the silly criteria. I shudder to think of it. I mean it, B.,’ she said to my feigned denial. ‘Sometimes I marvel when I think of all the reasons I had for dumping men. If I’d known someone like me, I’d have thought she was insane. Why didn’t you tell me?’

A clear case of I-told-you-so amnesia. ‘The reasons were valid to you at the time, so you couldn’t ignore them. And we did tell you, if you remember. Many times. You ignored us. Should we have been more insistent?’

‘No, you’re right, I wouldn’t have listened. It’s okay, I recognise that now. I don’t know how it happened, how I became such a judgmental bitch.’

‘You were never a bitch. You just had… well, let’s call them high standards. Sort of the Felix Ungar of the dating world.’

She laughed. ‘That seems like another person now, and I keep wondering how it happened. I mean, I think I changed, but how? I can’t work out what’s cause and what’s effect. Maybe I fell in love with Frederick because I stopped paying attention to all the requirements I had. Or maybe I ignored the list because I’d met Frederick. Maybe if any of those other guys had really been “the one” I’d have overlooked their flaws. Or maybe I grew up and realised that I didn’t need a long list. I just wish Clare would realise that. I know you don’t like to see us argue but this is why. She’s carrying around a bunch of silly reasons that The Shag can’t be her boyfriend, and yet he’s doing all the important things. And we all know she loves him. She’s just being stubborn, and purposely blind. It’s the fundamentals that are important, not the other stuff. I wish she’d see that. She’s got a man who’s devoted, who wants to be involved with their baby, who puts her needs first. He puts up with her mood swings, which is more than we can say, and we’ve loved her for years.’

She was right about that. I usually tried to gauge Clare’s moods (plural) remotely before submitting to them in person.

‘It doesn’t matter that he rides a skateboard to work, or that he doesn’t like champagne,’ she continued. ‘Which admittedly is a bit weird. My point is that she shouldn’t completely dismiss him because of these small things when the important things are all there. Take me and Frederick. It doesn’t matter that he leaves used dental floss on the side of the sink, or wears socks to bed. It doesn’t bother me that his jaw clicks when he chews.’

‘What about putting leftovers in their pans in the fridge instead of using plastic containers?’

‘That does drive me mad, but I cope. And I hate that he doesn’t flush the loo after he wees. If it’s yellow–’

‘Let it mellow. I know. I lived in fear of the up-splash when I had to go in the middle of the night. You’re right, I think Clare should give The Shag a chance. She obviously loves him, though she changes the subject every time I ask her. I guess she’s embarrassed after refusing to be seen in public with him for so many years. She’s always been pretty harsh about him. She’s got a lot of words to eat. And you know she’s had no appetite for months.’ I smiled at my own cleverness as we arrived at the door. ‘Ready to dazzle your boss?’

She took a deep breath. ‘As I’ll ever be.’

A small smiling woman dressed in black greeted us.

‘Hi, I’m B.,’ I said, sticking my hand out to the woman.

‘May I take your coats?’ She asked with a thick accent.

‘Er, thanks.’ Nice entrance, B., mistaking the maid for the host. ‘Faith! You make the introductions, okay?’

‘That
was
very smooth. Don’t worry, I’ll brief you.’

I may not have been the career asset that Faith hoped for. I wasn’t exactly au fait with playing the corporate wife. Wining and dining hadn’t been in Mattias’ job description when we were together. I hesitated to call urban planners geeks, but they were very nice, very smart geeks. Their get-togethers tended to be at the local pub after work. Their annual Christmas party was their only organised event and that was still at the local pub. We just dressed up a bit.

The living room was crowded, with a rather high waiter-to-guest ratio. Maybe they planned to feed us our canapés personally. Crab puff with a side of waiter’s fingerprints. ‘Faith, how many of these people do you know?’

‘Not many. There’s Fionnula. She had a thing with Ken last year. She’s got her own office.’

I didn’t know whether that was the cause or the consequence of the affair. ‘And he invited her?’

‘It looks like he’s invited them all. There’s Cressida. I think that’s still going on. And Valentina. She acts like it’s still going on, but it was just the one Christmas party.’

‘And everyone knows about these affairs?’

‘Of course. It’s a very incestuous industry. Everyone sleeps with everyone.’

‘What about you? Who’ve you slept with?’

‘B., my most glamorous assignment has involved hiding behind bins. Do you rate my sexual ability that low? Believe me, though, if I got the chance, I’d have considered it.’

‘Seriously? With him?’

Our host was slowly working his way around the enormous room. He was in his mid-fifties, with a head of limp greying locks that made him look like he’d recently been dragged from the sea. Added to the way in which his chinos stretched snugly across an almost square expanse of flat bottom and you had all the hallmarks of a man who got women into bed with big promises. ‘That’s not his wife!’ I said of the stunner who’d just joined him.

‘It is. Incredible, isn’t it?’

She was tall and slim, but not skinny. She looked sporty, maybe an equestrian. Her hair was just the right shade of honey blonde, swinging down her back in thick ringlets. Straight teeth flashed as she laughed. ‘You said she’s rich, right?’ Faith nodded. ‘And obviously beautiful. Is she stupid?’

‘Incredibly clever. And fun and nice.’

‘Then he must have something on her. Some terrible family secret that she’s married him to protect. Is it something sexual? Is she a hermaphrodite? A Thai ladyboy? What? What is it? How is this possible? Tell me!’

She held her index fingers a couple of feet apart.

‘No! Really? But that’s an exaggeration, right?’ I could only see his monstrous backside. Not that I expected it to be hanging from his zip, but like seeing the scene of a momentous event without seeing the event itself, the lay of the land sometimes gave you an inkling. ‘I don’t think it would be worth it.’

‘That’s not all,’ she sang with a wicked gleam. ‘He can make a woman come every time.’

‘Even–’

‘Even those who don’t. Yep. They say he has,’ she lowered her voice. ‘Techniques. That he’s incredible. That’s probably why she married him. And why she sticks around.’

‘Maybe he’s a nice guy.’

‘No, he’s a dick.’

‘That does seem to be his defining feature.’

Noise levels rose along with the champagne bubbles in our bloodstreams. It was clear which guests were Ken’s friends and which were his work contacts. The former were collagened and botoxed to the eyeballs in order to pass for the latter, who really were in their twenties and thirties. I didn’t condemn the fight against ageing. It was easy to be judgmental, until gravity lowered our principles along with our bustline.

‘Hello, I’m Faith,’ she said to one of the older ladies we sidled up to. ‘And this is B.’

‘Howdoyoudo. Lady Farfegnugen, and this is my daughter Sage.’

I wondered whether her sisters, Paprika and Onion, were coming later. ‘Are you friends of Ken’s?’ I enquired instead.

‘Oh yes,’ said the older woman. ‘A friends of Pippa’s, actually. Our families are old chums. We grew up nearly next-door neighbours in Sussex. And you?’

‘I’m Faith’s date. She works with Ken.’ Faith was busy talking to a man who I presumed was Lord Farfegnugen.

‘Oh. Oh, well, that’s wonderful. You know, I’ll tell you something.’ She looked like a woman who often liked to tell you something. ‘I was really most pleased when those laws were passed. You people should have all the same rights.’

Who, Canadian-Americans?

‘Ah, no,’ Faith intervened, catching the end of the conversation. ‘B. is my friend. She’s not my
friend
.’

‘Well, it would be fine if she were,’ said Parsley. ‘Mummy’s very liberal like that. Aren’t you Mummy? Tell them about the decorator.’ She had the widest set eyes I’d seen outside a Manga comic, making her look like she normally travelled by spacecraft.

‘Thank you, but we’re not.’

‘Who’s not what?’ Ken asked as he approached. If only I could keep my eyes from darting to his crotch.

‘B.’s not my, er, husband. Or wife. Partner. Civil partner. She’s not. She’s just my friend.’

He grinned. ‘I didn’t have you down as a lesbian. Not that it’d make any difference to me. I’m an equal opportunity employer. The courts have said so.’

Faith laughed heartily. I threw him a chuckle in support. As any good wife would.

‘Ken,’ I said. ‘Your house is lovely. These are really interesting statues.’ The room was filled with stone carvings of exotic large-breasted women.

‘Thanks. They’re from Angkor Wat. Took us bloody ages to get them but Pippa was determined not to give up. We visited a few years ago. Do you know there’s nothing inside? Completely empty. Waste of a day if you ask me but Pippa had her heart set on it.’

‘Did you have problems with the permits?’ Asked Parsley. ‘Mummy had a deuce of a time getting our marbles. Those little governments can be very unhelpful. I don’t understand it. It’s not as though they’re doing anything with them. Half the time they just moulder in a corner somewhere. Do you know, I was in the Cairo museum once and saw ancient artefacts literally piled in the corners? It’s much better that we have them. At least we take care of them.’

‘Those people don’t understand,’ Lady Farfegnugen observed without a whiff of embarrassment. ‘It’s for their own good that we have these things. At least they’re preserved this way. Just look at the Elgin Marbles. The Egyptians don’t even have air conditioning. Imagine how long they’d last there.’

‘Greeks,’ I said.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Greece, not Egypt. The Elgin Marbles come from the Parthenon. In Greece.’ I knew this because I went to the British Museum a few weeks earlier with Frederick in an attempt to do something more cultural with him than watch sitcoms and give each other facials.

‘The Greeks don’t have air conditioning either,’ she declared.

I was willing to bet they did, but didn’t see how arguing the point further would have any effect on the Lady.

Faith was seated at the far end of the long table, between Lord Farfegnugen and a youngish man that she seemed to know. I knew neither of my dinner companions, but the one to my left was gorgeous. He had wavy dark brown hair and deep blue eyes fringed with black lashes. When he smiled he got dimples.

‘Who are you here with?’ He asked.

‘My friend Faith, over there at the other end of the table.’

‘Ah yes, they never put couples together.’

‘We’re not a couple,’ I said. What was it about me? Surely one skipped shaving day doth not a lesbian make.

‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ He looked aghast, then smiled. ‘I was really rather pleased to be able to exhibit my open-mindedness. These parties are usually so dull.’

‘Then I’m sorry to disappoint you. I have been with women, of course.’ I had no idea why I said this. I was bragging to a complete stranger. ‘If that makes the party any more interesting.’

‘Well, yes, it certainly does. Now at least I have something to tell my friends when they ask. What else do you like to do? Besides women?’

‘Ah, let’s see. I was a consultant until recently, and now I’m trying to make my singing career.’

‘You sing? I like to carry the occasional tune myself. Not professionally, but I’ve been known to bring an audience to tears with my rendition of “Hotel California”.’

‘Ooh, that’s not an easy one to do.’

‘That’s exactly what my audience usually says. They may not be tears of joy. Oh, excuse me,’ he said, nodding over my shoulder. ‘I think I’m meant to talk to the woman on my left. First course and all. But I enjoyed meeting you. We’ll talk again.’

‘Me too,’ I said as I glanced at the unsmiling elderly man to my right. ‘I’m sorry, hello, I’m B.’

‘How do you do, B. My name is Francis Willoughby.’

He still wasn’t smiling. I was a bit stuck for topics given that he seemed to want to challenge me to a staring contest. ‘Er, is your wife here?’

‘Why do you ask? Do you know my wife?’

‘Um, no. I was just guessing that you have one. Most of the guests seem to be paired up.’ Exhibit 1, why I didn’t generally like old people: Francis Willoughby.

‘Are you?
Paired up
?’

‘No, I’m here with my friend Faith. She works for Ken. Are you in the newspaper business too?’

‘I am not. Bloody carbuncles on the arse of civilisation.’

‘Then you’re a friend of Ken and Pippa’s?’

‘Yes. No. My wife is. I’m told I have to tolerate them.’

What a grumpy old codger. ‘Oh. Which one is your wife?’

‘The one at the end sat beside the man who looks ready to expire from boredom.’

I knew exactly which man he meant. ‘Well, splitting couples up at dinner gives everyone a chance to meet someone new.’ How was that for seeing the bright side?

‘That isn’t why they do it. It gives us a break from the nagging.’ Mr Willoughby clearly approved of the hostess’s seating arrangements.

I smiled sweetly. ‘Given the men I’ve met here, I’m sure the women can use the break too.’

He stared at me. Then laughed. ‘Probably so.’ He turned to his soup. Conversation over.

I hated hearing married people talk about each other like that, probably because my parents were such a nuptial anomaly. They seemed to love each other like people in the movies did. Even after forty-five years they giggled with their heads together when they shared jokes and held hands while grocery shopping. Could it be that easy? For normal humans, not my parents.