Sheer Abandon (55 page)

“Good heavens,” said Jilly, “isn’t this absolutely out of this world? Just look at those lights—oh, thank you so much,” she said graciously to the driver. “Martin, dear, take my stole for a moment, would you—and that fountain over there, how absolutely marvellous—Oh, now there is Jocasta. My God, what a dress!”

Jocasta stood on the steps of the house with Gideon, wearing a dress that was a faithful copy of a vintage 1924 Chanel. It was ankle-length chiffon, in palest grey, with a layered petal-like hem, the fabric printed in a spiderweb pattern in a darker grey. When she raised her arms, wings unfolded from the dress in the same floating fabric, falling from her fingers; she looked like a dancer, the star of some exotic revue—a shining, glittering star.

“Jilly, how perfectly wonderful to see you! You look younger than ever. I want you to meet my husband, Gideon Keeble, I’ve told him so much about you. Helen and Jim, it’s nice of you to come, and where is the lovely Kate? Kate, darling, come and give me a kiss. My God, you look wonderful, and who is this desperately handsome man you’ve got with you?”

“Nat Tucker,” said Nat, holding out his hand. “Pleased to meet you. Nice place you’ve got here,” he added, “very nice indeed.”

“We like it,” said Jocasta, “thank you. I’ll catch up with you all later, just a bit busy at the moment—go through there and you’ll be looked after.”

“She’s very nice-looking,” said Nat, the first to take a glass of champagne, leading the way through the arch of flowers that led across the side of the house and down to the wonderland below.

“Isn’t she? And nice too,” said Kate, following his example, sipping at her glass, aware that a great many people were staring at her. “Oh my God, Sarah, look, a cocktail bar and there’s another—this is going to be really cool! Let’s explore.”

“Kate…” called Helen feebly, as the six of them disappeared into the lantern-lit twilight. But she was gone.

“I think we should do exactly the same,” said Jilly. “Just look over there, it’s—my goodness, a casino, and, I don’t believe it, there’s even a cinema! Do let’s see what’s on.”

“Well, he’s certainly pushed the boat out for her, hasn’t he?” said Josh. He and Beatrice were settling themselves at their table for dinner: the family table, with Gideon and Jocasta, and Jocasta’s godmother and her husband, substituting for Ronald Forbes. Jocasta had changed the table plan through a blur of tears.

The marquee slowly filled, the buzz of conversation rising and falling as people moved to their tables, greeting people on the way; it was almost half an hour before everyone was seated.

“And soul food!” said Fergus to Clio. “What a brilliant idea. Don’t look like that, you’ll love it. And if you don’t, there’s an alternative. Of course.”

“They really have thought of everything, haven’t they?” said Jack Kirkland to Martha. She smiled. “Indeed. It’s been quite wonderful.” So far it really had been fine; Jack had been a marvellous escort, courteous and attentive, introducing her to anyone who would listen as one of Centre Forward’s brightest stars. Janet Frean, rather surprisingly dressed in tie and tails, her auburn hair slicked back—“Well, I don’t like dresses”—had been warm and friendly.

A rather subdued Chad told Martha she would greatly improve the standard of looks in the House when she got there. Eliot Griers told her it was nice to see her, and asked her how she was getting on; Caroline Griers was effusively friendly. Sitting next to her was Chris Pollock, the editor of the
Sketch
, whom she had liked enormously when she met him at the Centre Forward launch. Chad was on her other side; she asked him where his daughters were.

“Oh, there’s a younger contingent down there,” he said gesturing vaguely towards the other side of the marquee. “They’re having a wonderful time. Too many cocktails, I’m afraid, but it’s that sort of night, isn’t it?”

Martha agreed and noticed that, like her, he was hardly drinking. She would have liked a little more champagne, but she knew she couldn’t afford to. She still felt the need to be very watchful.

Towards the end of the meal, Gideon stood up. He smiled round the vast space, raised his hands for silence, picked up a microphone.

“He looks marvellous, doesn’t he?” whispered Beatrice to Josh. “He really is wonderfully handsome.”

Gideon had refused to dress up; he said people his age and size had no business to be embarrassing everyone. His only concession to the theme was a wing collar on his dress shirt.

“No speeches, I’ve promised Jocasta. Except for two things: thank you all for coming. It’s been a wonderful night—so far. I’m told it is yet extremely young. Not being quite that myself, I am hoping I can last a little longer. And I just wanted to tell you all, our friends, our very good friends, how much I love Jocasta and how happy she has made me.” He reached down and took her hand; a chiffon wing spread itself across the space between them. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve her, but I only hope I can make her as happy in return.”

Jocasta promptly started to cry; Gideon leant over and wiped her tears tenderly away with his fingers.

“She’s like that,” he said, “terribly predictable.”

A roar of laughter went up. As it died again, he said, “Next on the programme is the treasure hunt; each table has a list of clues. First back here wins. I shall be waiting patiently. Good luck.”

“I’m going to go and visit the Tarrants at their table,” whispered Fergus in Clio’s ear. “But I will be back, I promise. Don’t go off treasure hunting without me.”

“I won’t,” she said laughing and then turned back to Johnny Hadley who was telling her yet another scurrilous story about Charles and Camilla. He could hardly believe his luck in finding a pretty woman who had never heard any of his sort of well-worn gossip before; instead of mocking him, as the media girls did, Clio’s eyes got bigger with every story.

She found it hard now to believe she hadn’t wanted to come to this party. She’d had a wonderful time. Fergus, she discovered, was not just charming and amusing himself, he made you feel the same. For almost the first time in her life Clio was experiencing the dizzy sensation of making someone else laugh. And although he did disappear from time to time, at the sighting of some new high-profile celebrity, he kept coming back to her.

She just wished he did something else for a living—and then wondered why on earth it mattered to her.

“Martha, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. Hello, Josh.”

“Hello. Wonderful to see you. Who’d have thought we should all be reunited at a bash like this?”

“Who indeed?”

“What are you doing these days? Law, isn’t it?”

“Law, yes. And a foray into politics. And you?”

“Oh, working for the old family firm. Are you—married or anything?”

“No, nothing. You?”

“I’m married. Yes. Very much so. Two children as well. Girls. Dear little things.”

“And is your wife here?”

“Yes. Somewhere. Well what a long time ago that seems, doesn’t it?”

“It does indeed. Another lifetime altogether…Well, I must be getting back to my table. Nice to see you, Josh.”

“Nice to see you too. Very nice dress,” he added.

Well, that had been all right. She’d got through that. No awkward questions. He still looked pretty good, a bit heavier, maybe, and possibly a bit less hair, but you could still just about see the golden boy there.

Yes, it had been fine. She needn’t have worried about that.

“Who was your smooth friend?” It was Bob Frean’s voice; Janet had proved a rather enthusiastic treasure hunter and been missing for ages.

“Oh—Jocasta’s brother, Josh,” she said carefully.

“I didn’t know you knew them that well.”

“I don’t really. Not anymore. I met them when we were young.”

She was beginning to feel a bit panicky; she took a deep breath, smiled at him feebly.

“Do you want to go over to the casino? Or have a dance, even?”

“I’d love to go to the casino,” she said. She had learnt, when she was feeling like this, that the trick was to keep moving.

He took her hand, pulled her out of her chair. “Want to take a drink with you?”

“No, I’m fine. Are you sure Janet won’t be wondering where you are?”

“It’ll make a change if she does,” he said and smiled just the briefest moment too late. Ah, Martha thought, not quite the perfect partnership then.

They walked slowly away from the table: she felt better already.

“Clio! There you are, my darling. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Come along, the nightclub awaits.”

She had been walking back from the ladies’, had seen him talking to Jocasta rather intently. Probably she’d told him to keep an eye on her that evening, she thought, suddenly less sure of herself.

“Fergus, I’m sure you’ve got lots of mingling to do,” she said, trying to sound cool.

“I haven’t. Let’s go and dance.”

“You really don’t have to, you know.”

“Now look,” he said, sitting on the grass, pulling her down beside him, “Clio, you have to get over this ridiculous inferiority complex of yours. You are an attractive, sexy woman. And a very nice and interesting one. Anyone would be pleased to dance with you, to talk to you. I watched Johnny Hadley drooling over you at dinner. Now come along, I saw you in the Charleston school. You were the star pupil at the time. Which is more than I could say for myself. Maybe you can give me a hint or two.”

“Well…”

“Oh, stop dithering,” he said, “or I really will go and find someone to mingle with. But I don’t want to. How do I get that into your extremely beautiful, but it seems rather thick, little head?”

He stood up, held out his hand. Clio took it and followed him meekly to the nightclub.

“Oh, this is so cool.”

Kate was overexcited, drunk not only with champagne and cocktails but with the noise, the music, the awareness that a great many people were looking at her, admiring her, pointing her out. “You enjoying it, Nat?”

“Yeah. Pity about the music.”

“Well, it’s an old-people’s party, isn’t it? What do you expect? It’s still fun, come and dance. Bernie, you coming?”

“No, not for the moment. Cal’s not feeling so well.”

“Where is he?”

Bernie indicated the bushes.

“I said I’d go with him, hold his head and that, but he said to leave him alone. Oh, here he is now. You all right, Cal?”

“Yeah, fine.” He was greenish white; he sat down unsteadily. “Wouldn’t mind some water. Well—maybe in a minute.” And he disappeared back towards the bushes.

“Well, my ex–star reporter, how is married life treating you? Is it really better than the
Sketch
?” Chris Pollock had invited Jocasta to dance; they were walking towards the disco.

“It’s wonderful,” said Jocasta. “Truly.”

“You don’t miss it at all?”

“Not at all. Honestly.”

“I suppose I should be happy for you. But we certainly miss you. Conference is not the same without your often daft suggestions. The newsroom is not the same without your legs—”

“Chris! That is so chauvinist.”

“Sorry. I was born that way. And the paper is not the same without your byline and the stories beneath it.”

“Really?” She stopped suddenly, looked at him, and for a moment she knew she did miss it, and how much: missed the excitement, the pursuit of stories, the absurd panics, missed the easy chat of the morning conference, moving, with the relentless rhythm of a newspaper’s day, into the tension of the evening one. Missed the gossip, the absurd rumours, missed the rivalry, missed the fun.

“Well…maybe just a bit,” she said finally.

“Thought so. Young Nick misses you. That’s for sure. He’s a man with a broken heart.”

“Well,” said Jocasta, “if he hadn’t been such a commitment-phobe, maybe it needn’t have been broken.”

“Are you telling me,” he said, his eyes dancing with malice, “you married Gideon on the rebound?”

“No, I am not. Of course I’m not. Don’t put words into my mouth.”

“Sorry, darling. Only teasing. I know love when I see it.”

“You? Oh, please!”

“Of course. Nothing more sentimental than a newspaper editor. You should know that.”

“Martha! It is you, isn’t it? How lovely!” A girl was standing in front of her; a small, slender girl, holding the hand of a rather handsome man with close-cropped grey hair. “I’m Clio. I hoped I’d find you.”

She would never have recognised her: tubby, shy Clio, transformed into this pretty, sparkly woman with diamonds in her hair. Martha managed to smile.

“Yes, yes, it’s me. Hello, Clio. I thought you might be here. This is Bob Frean. Bob—Clio Scott. We knew each other when we were younger.”

“We went travelling together,” said Clio, smiling. “In what is now known as a gap year. I’ve been so impressed with everything I’ve read about you, Martha. Especially the political bit. Are you in politics, Bob?”

“Thankfully not. But my wife is.” He looked rather uncertainly at Fergus.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Clio, “this is Fergus Trehearn.”