Venus Envy (22 page)

‘He takes precautions, and he’s nver seen in a good part of town with them. So it doesn’t embarrass me too much.’

‘How can you stand it?’ asked Ellen in horror. Dolores lifted her hands to show her huge sapphire. ‘First the engagement ring. Then the wedding ring. And then the suffering,’ she said. Then are dogs.’

s

I could only say, ‘Mmm.’

‘His girlfriends are two a penny, none of them means a damn thing. Seamus would never divorce me. And they know it, the little tramps.’

‘Maybe you should divorce him,’ Ellen said, going puce at such a feminist thought.

Dolores gave a little bark. ‘Maybe I should. Or maybe I should take some brave lover boy and give your man a taste of his own medicine.’

I know you’re going to think this is supremely weird, but a part of me wanted to get up and cheer at that.

‘So tell us all about your lovelife, Alex. k must be so exciting, it’s so cool to be single these days. Us old ,married women are going to rely on you to supply all

the passion in our lives,’ Ellen gushed.

I shrugged. ‘There’s nothing to tell. I’m still looking for the perfect man to sweep me off my feet.’

‘And has nobody done it for you yet?’ Dolores asked me. Keenly. Was I being paranoid, or did she know? Wias this whole thing warning me off?

‘No. They all wanted to sweep me under the carpet instead.’

‘You are awful, Alex,’ Ellen tittered.

I couldn’t take it any longer. I got up from the sofa pressing my hands to my skull. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but I’ve got a crushing migraine. Can I leave you two to it?’

I was so thankful when my bedroom door closed behind me. I felt like a medieval Catholic seeking sanctuary in a church. Oh hell, the whole thing made me want to die. All the golden yuppie couples, and fat Ellen with her millionaire. And now Dolores. Whether she was warning me off deliberately or no, she’d done a bloody good job.

Seamus screwed around. I couldn’t hide from the

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truth any more; not with Jenny and Dolores saying the same thing. I was just a passing bit of skirt. Most likely he went through the same routine with all of them.

I wished I could cry. That seemed the normal - the romantic - thing to do. But if I was honest, I’d done my crying on this one. The feeling was worse than that. It was just flat. Empty. Like love and.passion had let me down once too bloody often. I sat here, and I wasn’t really thinking about Seamus, I was thinking, what if I never find anyone to work me up the way Charles works up Ellen? I didn’t want to be alone. Christi I had a bloody horror of it, of winding up a lifestyle piece in the Evening Standard - ;Unattached and Flirty at Forty’. But that was what was going to happen to me if I kept waiting for true love.

Maybejt didn’t exist. Or worse, it did exist, just not fOE me.

I was limp. Absolutely whacked out with disappointment. Everything seemed monochrome, like all the colours had been sucked out of the sky.

I thought about Seamus some more. And in this disillusioned mode, my memories came back with a new twist on them. It was a bit sad, agreeing to pick up his dry-cleaning on our first date. And those suits - I thought of what Tom was wearing, and I wondered if those funny colours were flash? Weren’t they actually a bit dandified? God, they were. I sat there and saw my face flush in the speckled antique mirror. Seamus’s physique. I’d been telling myself it was poetic and slim, but didn’t those descriptions go better with girls? And how he’d talk about himself all the time …

I sat very still, the rose colour draining out of my romance spectacles. Wasn’t Seamus Mahon a bit corny, with those electric poems and flowers? Hitting on his secretary? Getting annoyed when he was interrupted?

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Wasn’t he actually a dandy? And a bit of a wimp? This was something of a revelation. It hit me pretty hard. For a second, all I could do was gaze stupidly back at myself.

If you put Seamus through an Army assault course,

he’d last about five minutes, I thought. Now God knows why that came into my head. But it did. I was blushing, actually blushing, because Dolores had made me see how silly I’d been. And guilty: she was hurting too, probably more. Seamus had told me his marriage was over, but I’d been bloody quick to accept that, hadn’t I? Wives and mistresses, we believe what we want to believe. I couldn’t just see Dolores as a Tatler photo any more. She got period pains, just like the rest

‘ of us. She was flesh and blood. And she was stuck with

Seamus.

Imagine being stuck with Seamus.

I got up and crossed to the window. The cows were chewing buttercups and daisies most contentedly. Time rolled around and it didn’t give a bugger about our broken hearts.

Maybe I should flirt with everybody, love nobody

and marry the first single man who asked me. Keisha says a lot of women do that when they get to twenty nine.

Gall rang to say she would arrive this afternoon, and Snowy was coming with her. We were discussing how much the Wildes should spend on our joint wedding present when all the cars rattled back into the drive. Ellen pounded past me like a mad thing. It was so soppy, she was like a puppy who couldn’t wait to see her master again.

‘Go for a silver teapot.’

‘How about some crystal glasses? Harrods has some lovely Waterford.’

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‘Fine, whatever.’ I really couldn’t get too excited about the present. I guess it had to be something smart.

There was a tug on my elbow. I spun round to see Seamus, staring down at me urgently.

‘I’ll call you back,’ I said to Gail, and hung up.

We stared at each other for a second. Then I backed off, but his grip tightened on me. His face was wary, but contorted with lust.

‘Let me go.’ I shook my arm free.

‘You look amazing,’ Seamus breathed. ‘That haircut, I love it. And that suit. Whenever did you get so flash, Alex Wilde? You’re killing me.’

‘You’ve changed your tune. You looked pig sick to see me, before.’

‘With herself standing right there?’

‘Look.’. I took a breath. ‘You needn’t worry, Seamus. I’m not going to chase you, I’m not bothered about it any more. We won’t see each other in the office. If I’d known you were such a mate of Charlie’s, I’d have got out of this.’

‘Uhohuh.’ He gave a nasty little laugh. ‘Playing hard to get, is it?’

‘Not playing at all. For God’s sake, anybody could come along—’

‘They’re all busy,’ Seamus said. The glint in his eye was pretty determined, ‘I know how badly you’ve wanted this, Alex, so don’t try and kid yourself. I hate

it when the girls get coy.’

‘I’m not interested.’

‘The old “no means no” nonsense? I’m not the kind of fool who buys that,’ Seamus said, and then he pounced on me and started to kiss me. I squirmed against him in fury, but his arms round my waist were locked tight. Thin little wimp he might have been, but it’s a rare man who’s not stronger than a woman. (Xena Warrior Princess obviously excepted.)

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I would have yelled get off, but his mouth was clamped on mine. And he was pushing his tongue at me. Man, I’d longed for this, but now it was so repulsive, like some wretched little chihuahua licking at me. Seamus was reaching down a hand to fondle my ass now. I squirmed even harder, but we were in the west wing here, everybody else was at the front of the house - and shit, now he was getting an erection, shoving it crudely up against me

‘What the bloody hell do you two think you’re playing at?’

A great paw clamped itself on Seamus’s shoulder and ripped him off me like a child ripping off a plaster. Tom Drummond, standing there solid as a Stonehenge ,boulder and just as forbidding. He looked absolutely enraged.

‘Jesus. Spoil somebody else’s party,’ said Seamus sulkily.

‘This is my bloody house,’ Tom snarled, ‘and you’ll behave in it or you can get out. My mother is coming up, the garden with your wife.’

Seamus glanced out of the lead-paned windows with a stricken-rabbit expression. He bolted up the stairs before I could say a single word.

I glowed at Tom. I’d never been so glad to see anyone in my entire life. ‘God, Tom, I—’

He held up one hand. He was still glowering. I could hardly believe he was the same comfy old Tom I’d been chatting to this morning he was incandescent with rage. I wouldn’t have liked to be the enemy when Tom was a soldier.

‘You needn’t try to excuse yourself. I saw you wriggling away.’

‘What?’ I gasped.

‘If a bitch of mine acts like that, we have to tie her up, before all the dogs in the neighbourhood come running. Christ, Alex, he’s married.’

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‘Who the bloody hell are you to judge me?’ I snapped, tears prickling my eyes.

‘I don’t know how you can be so shameless.’

I was seeing red now. I was buggered if I was going to explain myself to him. ‘Hey Tom, nobody died and made you God. Don’t sit in your fancy house and give me lectures.’

‘You act like a bloody alley cat!’ Tom snarled. ‘I suppose if I hadn’t walked past you’d have been screwing right on the stairs?’

I reached forwards and slapped him round the face. Hard as I damn well could. He didn’t even flinch, and

it must have hurt, because I could see my palm print ‘white on his face.

‘You and Dolores were alone earlier. I suppose you chatted about all the things you had in common,’ he said softl,v. ‘Or did you tell her about climbing the

ladder - how much easier it is to do it horizontally?’ ‘Fuck you!’ I spat.

‘I’d rather not. I don’t know where you’ve been,’ Tom said contemptuously. ‘I think you’d better make some excuse and leave. Dolores Mahon is a friend of Charles’s.’ Then he turned on his heel and walked off.

I felt like someone had hit me in the solar plexus. Tom Drummond had never, ever treated me like that in his life before. I knew he was old fashioned, but - I wanted to start sobbing. The self-righteous bastard!

I didn’t, get the chance, because an ancient door creaked open and there was Mrs Drummond, with Ellen and Dolores in tow. Oh Christ, I thought miserably, I hope she can’t smell her prick of a husband on me.

‘Alex, are you all right?’ Ellen said nervously. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

Seen a guest, you mean, I thought but didn’t say. I was frantically searching for an excuse to leave this house but my traitor imagination had packed up ori

me. ‘Come on upstairs and have a look at the bridesmaids’ dresses,’ Ellen burbled. ‘God, I’m so glad we’ve been reunited for this. It must be fate. I’d die if you couldn’t stay.’

I managed to calm down. Admiring Ellen’s taste with a straight face took all my energy. Ellen had gone for the Flower Fairy look in a big way. Nobody’s seen that many ruffles and bows since Princess Diana in 98. Her red, puffy face beamed as she displayed the pink skirts for me.

‘Stunning. So… striking,’ I told her, but I was off

in a world of my own. Feeling damn angry, if you want the truth. I always knew Tom was a male

,chauvinist pig. Looking like some Victorian prizefighter. Laying down the law like some bishop. Smug, priggish, arrogant bastard! I would be damned if he was going to run me out of this house.

I didn’t want to stay - but now nothing would make

me leave.

,I pressed my lips together. Ellen was the bride, and

she wanted me around. That was more important than being invited by the groom’s brother.

‘Do you know,’ Ellen said slowly, like she’d just had

one of those cartoon lightbulbs pop on over her head, ‘I’ve only got my cousins as bridesmaids, and they’re five - they’re twins. They’re bound to muck up the flower throwing. It would be wonderful if I had a matron of honour to keep them. in line. I don’t suppose you would, would you?’

Ten hours ago, no way Jos6. But I thought of Tom when he got that news.

‘I’d love to.’

hapter zo

I spent the rest of the morning with Ellen. Quietly fuming while we played with all her bridal toys.

Brides have a whole bunch of toys. I suppose you never find this out until you’re actually married. There was the dress. The slippers - extra-wide toes for Ellen, the Ugly Sisters would have got into these things fine. The ring - her engagement rock from Charles was a huge ruby on an antique silver band, and her wedding ring was. plain white gold. She kept opening and shutting the box. She showed me the flowers, took me down to the pantry to see the cake - six tiers, white and yellow. ‘Champagne sponge,’ Ellen gushed. ‘We wanted everything to be special. Oh gosh, Alex, did I show you the booze?’

I stared out at rows of Krug Premier Grand Cru. I knew Ellen’s dad, Tyler, was dead - and these things

cost major money. And this was just the drink. ‘Who’s paying for all this?’

‘Tom,’ Ellen glowed.. ‘He’s been so generous, you can’t imagine. As soon as Charlie told him he just took over. Charlie said be should do it, but Tom - well, he can be quite forceful.’ She laughed. ‘It’s so wonderful, being a bride.’

I’ll bet it is. Somebody should pass a law forbidding brides to go on and bloody on about their happiness and their nuptials in front of single women.

It’s like eating a Big Mac in front of an Ethiopian. It’s cruel and unusual punishment.

I’ll tell you something pitiful. I have, on occasion,

C

bought a copy of Brides at the newsagent, to read on the Tube. Just to live the dream for a tiny bit. To dither over simple shifts versus pretty embroidery. Pure white or cream? Heart neckline or scallop? To read articles about calming down the bridesmaids when the redhead won’t wear pink. Do you go for the country bower, the beach at dawn or the smart London church? Do you ask the Pope to book the Vatican, or elope to Vegas in jeans and a T—shirt? Veiled or bare headed? Wreath or tiara? Train or—

OK, OK, you get my drift.

The girls’ magazines often run articles about how stressful a wedding is. And I clutch them to my chest and think, oh Lord, it wouldn’t be stressful for me, I swear I would never think one irritated thought. I would love every bloody second of it. Picking the forks would be heaven. Posting the invitations would be utter bliss. It would be so joyous, even the mixups would be joyous.