The Benefits of Passion (6 page)

William, Annie had gleaned, was a Cambridge man, the oldest son of a vicar in North Oxford. He was very bright, could have done anything, and was now working as a GP in Bishopside. (A nearby north-eastern town where, as God was no doubt aware, reluctant Coverdale students were sent by the college to gain Urban Experience.)

Edward's affection for his friend seemed to be composed in equal parts of hero-worship and exasperation. Annie thought she could account for this. Not only was William thirty-seven, four years older than Edward, he was the one who had ‘brought Edward to faith'. And, if this was not enough, he had also rescued Edward from drowning at camp that same summer. Edward had therefore been saved body and soul by William Penn-Eddis, and Annie winced to think how devastating it must have been for Edward when his mentor later renounced the Christian faith. William fascinated her so much as a concept that she wasn't sure she wanted to meet the real thing and be disappointed. She tried to guess what he looked like, but her imagination could only suggest a picture of Edward with a stethoscope round his neck, barking, ‘Antibiotics? Nonsense! Cold shower and a quick run round the rugger field – soon sort you out.'

What's going on? Annie demanded suddenly. I give myself permission to work on my novel, and what do I find? I sit here thinking about clothes and men, for heaven's sake. She reread the mirror scene, hand poised to strike out the rude bits.

Isabella sat on the edge of her bed. It was three p.m. the day after the ball and she had just woken up. Her head ached, but it wasn't a full-blown hangover since she'd only got three-quarters drunk, not paralytic. She hadn't got laid, either; although, if she was honest, that had less to do with self-control than that her partner had passed out face-down in a lavender bush while throwing up. She had always found Luke sexy in a dark, smutty, two-days'-growth-of-beard kind of a way; but as she tried to haul him out of the herbaceous border his charm suddenly eluded her. The mingled smells of vomit and crushed lavender did not add up to irresistibility and, on a callous impulse, she let him lie. There then followed a brief window of sobriety in which she wandered around watching everyone else's antics. The spectacle disgusted her so much that she downed a couple more glasses of champagne to obliterate it.

Now, as she sat in her room with a throbbing head, she began to see what Barney meant by preferring something a little more mature. In that brief clear-eyed period she had witnessed Camilla not as a cool cynical beauty but as a silly drunken slag. Is that how I look to Barney? She winced at the probable reply and went to have a shower.

Camilla was still dead to the world when Isabella tapped softly on her door. Was that two sets of snores, even? She hurried away, embarrassed. She decided to go out and buy a new dress to cheer herself up.
Want
and
need
were synonymous in Isabella's vocabulary, so she had no difficulty in justifying the enterprise to herself. Before long, however, she began to sense the presence of Barney's disappointed face looming above the lingerie like Banquo's ghost in every shop she entered. Bugger off, she told him. I'll do as I please. Her eye fell on a cream straw hat with deep red silk roses on it and she knew at once that she
had
to have it. Wasn't it just
perfect
for her new silk dress? It would be a sin not to buy it. She tried it on. The hat
insisted
on being bought. She took it off and looked at the price. Over a hundred pounds! Barney shook his head. Oh, please! she wheedled. He turned to leave. Oh, all right, all
right
! She put down the hat and stomped out of the shop.

After a while her spirits rose. She had done the right thing, for once. Furthermore, she had saved a hundred quid and could therefore spend up to that amount on something else with a clear conscience.

It was in the next shop that she saw The Dress. Long and tight and black, split almost to the hip-bone up each thigh with nothing but latticework down the sides. Yes! She tried it on and bought it at once. It was a dream and, amazingly, it wasn't expensive! Well, not
that
expensive. Cheaper than the hat, anyway. Oh,
no-oo.
By the time she got home she was writhing with guilt.

Tim was coming out of the college chapel as she was skulking back to her room. The carrier bag seemed to smoulder as it hung from her hand.

‘How's the hunt going?' he called.

‘Hah!' She remembered her blithe wager earlier in the term. Supposing he demanded the money at the end of the week?

He crossed over to her. ‘What's wrong, Isabella?'

For a moment she was determined to bluff her way out, but the wonderful concerned look in his eyes was her undoing. ‘He doesn't
like
me, even!' she wailed. ‘He thinks I'm a silly immature drunken slag!'

Tim took her arm. ‘Come and tell me all about it.'

She let him lead her to his study and make her more of his excellent coffee. After a couple of gentle questions she found herself blurting out the whole humiliating saga. ‘I don't know what's happening to me,' she concluded. ‘I used to think I was OK but now I feel like a turd. And I've gone and spent loads of money on this stupid dress and I'm broke.' She plucked at the bag. ‘I'll have to take it back and pretend it doesn't fit.'

‘Let me see.'

‘No. You'll hate it.'

‘Go on.' She pulled it out. ‘Isa-
bella
! You're not playing fair. Give the man a chance.'

She felt herself smirking. ‘Worried about your fifty quid all of a sudden?' Tim was watching her thoughtfully, head on one side. Was he getting professional again? She shoved the dress back into the bag and fiddled with her coffee spoon. He seemed to be waiting for something.

‘I just feel like someone's setting me an exam,' she burst out at last. ‘Only I don't know what it's in so I can't revise for it.'

‘And you think you're going to fail?'

She nodded miserably, weaving the spoon in and out of her fingers. She waited for him to start preaching to her, but he just sat there in friendly silence. The spoon pinged suddenly out of her rigid fingers and flew across the room. ‘Well?' she snapped. ‘Aren't you supposed to convert me, or something? That's your job, isn't it?'

‘I've always seen it as God's job, actually,' he said. ‘He's so much better at it.'

‘What are you paid to do, you lazy bugger?' This is getting heav
y
,
thought Isabella. She'd never met anyone who talked like this about God. As if he knew him socially, for crying out loud. ‘Well, you can at least have a word in God's ear for me, then.'

‘Certainly. What shall I say?'

‘Tell him I want Barney.'

‘I'll mention it.'

‘Good.' Isabella thought for a bit. God might not be particularly sold on the concept of fornication. ‘Let's revise that. Tell him I want to
marry
Barney. Please,' she added, wondering how one addressed God. Rather like a college principal, she imagined.

‘Anything else while I'm at it?' asked Tim. ‘I can't interest you in Redemption? Remission of Sin? Eternal Life?'

‘You sound like a bloody sales rep.'

He laughed. ‘That's what I am, I suppose. More coffee?' She shook her head and stood up. He rose politely too, and went with her to the door. ‘Well,
nil desperandum
, Isabella.'

She made herself grin. ‘Nah. I'll keep my pecker up. Better still, someone else's.' She flourished the dress. ‘Thanks, Tim.'

She got back to her room and stared at the wreckage. Dropped towels, unmade bed, dead flowers, dirty clothes, wine bottles, coffee mugs. Oh, sort yourself
out
, woman! she thought. She was about to start when Camilla came groaning to the door.

‘We've got that sodding garden party in John's now,' she said. ‘And I
hurt
. What's that?' she asked, suddenly alert. ‘New dress? I thought you were broke.' She fished it out and held it up to herself. ‘You whore. You'll be walking through a thicket of hard-ons if you wear that. Can I borrow it?'

‘On your bike, you cheap scrubber.'

Annie's biro paused as she tried to think of a neat end to the scene. The clock chimed again. Help! She leapt up and began to change hurriedly into her velvet dress. She peered out of the window while she dragged a brush through her hair. Snow was falling thickly. Would the roads be blocked? She pulled on her sweater and boots then, grabbing a coat and beret, she hurried down the stairs, heart pounding, to meet the others in the hallway.

CHAPTER 6

She arrived breathless to find them waiting.

‘Muriel and Ingram have gone to get their cars,' said Dave. ‘We thought we'd risk it.'

They all looked doubtfully out of the door at the falling snow.

‘Annie, you can't go to the theatre in jackboots,' said Edward, catching sight of her feet.

‘Don't be so rude, Edward,' Isobel intervened. People were always defending Annie like this, as though she were a child, or a foreign guest who couldn't be expected to know about such things. ‘She's very sensible. It's snowing.' Isobel was wearing court shoes.

Ted peered down at Annie's feet with a kind of professional interest. ‘Ah! Now those are a fashion item, Edward. My girls wear them.'

‘Look like jackboots to me.'

‘
Edward!
' rapped out Isobel, in her headmistress voice.

A car horn tooted and they wrapped themselves up and went out on to the street. The cold air struck Annie's cheeks and there was the muffled hush of snow that she had always loved. The group dithered (You; No, no
you
, please; No, honestly, I don't mind whose car I go in) before Edward lost patience and sorted them out.

Annie found herself with him and Dave in Muriel's rattly old Mini. Ingram had a new car, but even the prospect of a warm journey would not have compensated for half an hour of him lecturing them on the Bard. Muriel was a cautious driver. She was peering anxiously through the windscreen as the wipers wumped to and fro shoving the snow aside. Annie could see her lips moving silently, and decided she must either be praying or reciting bits of the Highway Code to herself. Edward was in the passenger seat, and spent the whole journey twisted round and talking to Dave about Saturday's rugby international. Annie leant her head back and huddled up in her fleabag coat. The snow raced past her in a blur and her mind sped off to find Isabella.

‘Are these totally obscene?' Isabella asked Camilla the following morning. She had just been cutting down a pair of jeans to make shorts.

‘Bend over,' said Camilla, through a mouthful of croissant. Isabella touched her toes obediently. ‘Hmm. Another half-inch and they would be.' Isabella reached for the scissors.

Half an hour later she was heading for Latimer Hall in the cropped shorts and a skimpy T-shirt. In her mind she was going over the details of her ball statement, in case Barney interrogated her. Hell, she hadn't got laid, had she? She'd hardly got drunk, even. I mean, give me a break. But with each step the story sounded dodgier.

She was so deep in thought that it was a while before she realized she was being kerb-crawled by some wanker in an open-topped sports car. She gave him the finger without turning. The red car continued to creep along beside her.

‘Like a ride, little girl?' She whipped round.

‘Barney!' He was leaning across and opening the door for her with a grin. She climbed in, twittering with excitement. ‘Vicars aren't supposed to drive flash-git motors,' she said reprovingly.

‘But I'm not a vicar,' he protested. He pulled out and off they went. The wind rushed through her hair. Somewhere in her mind the Hallelujah Chorus struck up.

‘Is this really your car, Barney?'

‘Yep.'

She laughed in glee. ‘This is fu –' Whoops! ‘F – f – fun.' Fucking fantastic! They were speeding out of Cambridge. ‘And vicars aren't supposed to drive like this, either! Where are you taking me, Barney?'

They slowed at a roundabout.

‘To a land full of hills and winding lanes.'

‘Yeah?'

‘Where I can do a lot of unnecessary gear changing.' He went down from second to first, knuckles grazing her right thigh. A shock thrilled through her. Well, Barnaby Hardstaff! This is more like it. She nudged his hand with her knee and waited. He made no move.

‘Make the most of it,' she told him. ‘In another month you'll be ferrying old ladies to church in this car.'

‘I'd need a winch,' he replied. ‘I'll have to sell it, and buy something sensible, I'm afraid.'

‘You can't!'

‘Sorry.' He had both hands firmly on the wheel again as though the thought of old ladies had brought him back to his senses. Damn the Church, thought Isabella resentfully. ‘But in the meantime . . .' he said. They hit the open road and the engine roared.

‘
Hallelujah!
' Isabella whooped, as they seared past rape fields under the blazing June sun. Barney –

The fields gave way to dark snowy streets. Muriel parked and they got out. The snow swirled yellow in the floodlights that shone near the monument. They made their way through the slush to the theatre. Annie strode confidently in her jackboots, trying not to smirk each time Edward skidded in his brogues.

He noticed. ‘Get that look off your face, Brown!'

They reached the foyer and met up with Ingram and the others in the mass of damp theatre-goers. Snatches of bright conversation were sometimes audible in the rumble of chat.

‘Can't see William,' came Edward's voice over the noise. Libby gave a little whine and twitched in her sleep at the mention of his name, but Annie decided to let her lie. No point having her bounding about slavering only to be disappointed. She searched the crowd, trying to guess which Barbour-clad man would turn out to be the good doctor. Her imagination came up with a picture of Edward flexing his hands in a pair of surgical gloves: ‘Right. Clothes off and on the couch. Be with you in two ticks.'

‘Happy, darling?' he asked irritably.

‘Yes, thank you,' she replied. ‘Darling.'

‘I hope you're going to behave yourself,' he boomed. Several heads turned to watch the entertainment.

‘Of course, Edward.' Hmm. Even if she wasn't a couple of drawers too far down the social tallboy for him, she could never marry a man whose pillow-talk would be audible all over the parish on a still night. Annie became aware that a dark-haired man had drawn close and was standing at Edward's elbow.

Edward turned. ‘William!'

They shook hands and Edward began introducing him to the group. Annie looked him over sneakily while names were being exchanged. Quite tall. Lean, with a thin face. He looked pale beside the rubicund Edward. His hair was cut very short in that aggressive all-right-so-I'm-thinning-out style she rather admired. A wide mouth and straight scowling eyebrows made him plain to the point of ugliness. Oh, well. Libby stayed curled in her basket. She liked his clothes, though. Not at all like a doctor. Long black coat, tatty jeans and a baggy old dark green sweater. And best of all – jackboots. She looked up at his face again.

‘And this is Annie,' concluded Edward, as the loudspeaker announced that the performance was about to begin.

William glanced at her and nodded. Her heart jumped with something like shock. Those eyes! He had already looked away, and she knew he hadn't bothered to register her name, but her heart continued to thump. Eyes like a hungry panther.
Walkies, Libby.
Walkies!

The group began to move towards the stairs. Just as well he was a GP not a surgeon. Annie could imagine passing out with a combination of lust and fear if she encountered those pale hazel-green eyes over a surgical mask. He was a few steps ahead of her, talking to Edward, but although Edward's voice was as stupendously audible as ever, she couldn't catch what William was saying. She watched his profile. He had a slightly aquiline nose and high cheekbones. By now they had reached their seats. Edward ushered Annie in first. Ingram followed, and Annie became profoundly absorbed in her programme. She couldn't block out his voice, though, as he lectured anyone whose eyes involuntarily strayed his way on the socio-political hinterland to
Lear
. Before long the lights dimmed and the murmur of conversation dwindled.

The beginning was spoiled for Annie by the fidgety presence of Miss Brown, who kept taking notes ready for discussion in class tomorrow. She ejected her with a struggle and settled back to enjoy herself. What would it have been like at the original opening night of
King Lear
? You wouldn't know that the first half was leading inexorably up to the putting-out of Gloucester's eyes. It was horrible enough when you knew it was coming. Annie sat tense. She hated anything to do with eyes. When, eventually, the scene arrived, Regan leant forward and watched the process with an unblinking prurience. Were there really people who were turned on by that kind of thing, Annie wondered, as the applause died away.

‘Who'd like an ice-cream?' Edward's cheerful voice saw off all such thoughts.

They played No, no, let me, No, please, for a moment or two until Edward extracted the information he needed and clambered out to join the queue. Ingram also disappeared, thank goodness. Piddle Trenthide, she thought, wishing Ted was near enough for her to whisper it to him. Isobel began to engage William in polite chat and Annie moved a few seats closer, hoping to eavesdrop. Before she heard anything Ingram reappeared, brimming with some purpose.

‘There's a woman in the corridor who appears to have fainted.' This was aimed at William. He glanced at Ingram, but said nothing. After a moment Ingram ventured, ‘I thought possibly as a doctor . . . ?'

‘I'm off duty.' These were the first words Annie had heard him utter and they caused a little frisson to go round the Coverdale group. He seemed to sense it. ‘She'll come round,' he added. This hardly improved the situation, and Isobel and Muriel were obliged to step in, as women will, and try to take the sharp edges off the conversation.

‘I expect it's the heat,' said Isobel. ‘Or that last scene.' They all shuddered and laughed in sympathy.

‘Is someone with her?' asked Muriel. Ingram nodded. ‘Oh, then I'm sure she's all right. They'd be asking for an ambulance if they were at all worried.'

‘It's so terribly hot in here,' repeated Isobel.

Ingram opened and shut his mouth and everyone tried to think of something to say. After the temperate climate of Coverdale, where everyone was primed to go the extra mile and do anything for the least of the brethren, William's attitude was like a bracing east wind. Or a breath of fresh air, thought Annie disloyally. She could see that Ingram felt he'd been made to look a fool. The atmosphere was so awkward, despite Isobel's and Muriel's efforts, that even Edward noticed it when he clambered back, fists full of ice-cream.

‘What's going on?'

‘Someone's fainted,' said Muriel soothingly.

Ingram pursed his lips to imply he was too generous to rat on Dr Dolittle lounging callously in his seat.

Edward obviously knew William well enough to sum up the situation at once. ‘Well?' he barked at him.

‘Well, what?'

‘Go and do something.'

‘You go and do something. Airways, breathing, circulation. Check them.' Edward glared. ‘Basic first aid.'

‘I'll go,' said Ingram.

‘Perhaps I'd better,' said Muriel. ‘I was a nurse.'

‘I'm nearer,' said Ingram. No, no; Yes, yes; Please, I insist. Annie caught William rolling his eyes. Not a man to waste his time on such games. His glance flicked her way and she began peeling the paper from her ice-cream with close concentration, trying not to smile. Ingram and Muriel went off together.

‘Hah. I'm glad you're not my GP,' said Edward. William looked as though this was mutual. ‘Bet no one dares call you out.' Annie thought she saw a gleam of amusement.

‘Let's say they think twice.'

‘Well, so they should,' remarked Isobel. ‘I'm sure people make totally unreasonable demands on their doctors.' Libby bared her fangs and let out a territorial snarl.

‘By the way, Edward,' said William, not taking up Isobel's comment, ‘I was going to tell you this – one for your sermon illustration file.' The group's attention focused on him. Ted and Dave leant forward to hear better. ‘I was on call on New Year's Eve,' he was saying, ‘pissed off because I was at a party and I couldn't drink anything.' He would have to have a sexy voice like that, thought Annie, clinging to Libby's collar for grim death. Deep, with a husky edge. But perhaps it was just the end of a cold. ‘My bleep went off – predictably – at about quarter to midnight. Sick child. It didn't sound too serious, and I was just reassuring the mother when I heard the husband in the background say, “Tell that lazy bugger to get off his arse.” And I thought,
Right
. I went. The child was fine – slight temperature, maybe – so I gave them a real bollocking for wasting my time.' He paused. They waited. ‘I was just getting back into my car when I knocked my party hat off.'

Edward's laugh rang out. ‘Serves you right, Penn-Eddis.'

‘Yeah.' William grinned. ‘Thought you'd like it.'

Annie stared, bewitched. She had never seen such a totally ravishing, transforming smile. Oh no!
Libby! Libby! Come back! Here, girl!
His eyes were on her again and this time she caught a raised eyebrow before she plunged back into her ice-cream. The conversation turned to sermon illustrations generally, and several anecdotes were swapped. Annie sat observing William covertly. His accent was nowhere near as plummy as Edward's, but she suspected that both his voice and his clothes were deliberately
déclassé
. Ingram and Muriel reappeared at this point with the news that the woman had come round.

‘What if she'd had a heart attack, though?' said Edward, pre-empting any smugness on his friend's part. ‘Eh?'

‘Then I'd probably have gone.'

‘Forgive me,' said Ingram, ‘but you didn't actually
know
she hadn't.' Little Snidebury-in-the-Dress-Circle. William didn't reply, but retreated into his earlier hauteur. No. I wouldn't dare call him out for anything less than pneumonia. But then I'd probably get a bollocking for not calling him earlier. She was grinning into the last mouthful of ice-cream when he leant across and snapped his fingers under her nose. She jumped and looked up into those eyes.