by Jilly Cooper
‘Wish I could afford to drown mine,’ grumbled Alan.
Tables were grouped around a little dance floor with a disco alternating between golden oldies and the latest pop music in the corner.
‘One would expect viols and lutes,’ said the Major pompously.
The behaviour of the syndicate, however, grew more like that of Stephano and Trinculo, the play’s drunkards, as they tucked into flagons of booze and piles of Shakespearean food: boar’s heads, sucking pigs, and mountains of figs and grapes.
‘Why no roast swan?’ asked Alan.
Cheers greeted the arrival of Seth and Corinna.
‘O eastern star!’ cried the Major, kissing her hand.
‘The lighting was awesome,’ Bonny told her, ‘you didn’t look a day over fifty-five, Corinna. And weren’t the sets marvellous? What a good supporting cast and you must be so proud of Seth.’
Unable to come down to earth at once, Etta escaped to her lovely room to tart up.
‘I have immortal longings in me,’ she sighed.
The play had been so wonderful, but the best part of the day had been Valent hugging her after Wilkie won and his tucking her trousers into her gumboots and feeling his big strong hands on her legs. She hoped they’d have a dance later. She was sure he’d be a terrific dancer, he’d spent enough time dancing round the goal mouth.
She was worried, however, by the way Bonny was leaping to Seth’s defence. She hoped Valent wouldn’t be hurt and things wouldn’t get out of hand. Going downstairs she found a note in her pigeon hole.
‘Dear Etta, Sorry, had to fly off to the States to sort out some crisis. Have a good evening, Valent,’ and felt winded by a huge charging bullock of disappointment. Turning, she found Seth talking to a boot-faced Bonny.
‘Whatever’s the matter?’
‘Valent’s pushed off to the States. The Yanks are kicking up because he’s refusing to have his miracle teething gel tested on baby chimps.’
‘Quite right,’ said Etta warmly.
‘For the sake of a few monkeys,’ spat Bonny.
‘Let’s have one other gaudy night,’ mocked Seth, linking arms with them both, ‘and fill our bowls once more and mock the midnight bell.’
Having acted her heart out, taken a dozen curtain calls and been sought out in her dressing room by the great French director Tristan de Montigny, who was mad about her Phèdre, Corinna wasn’t up to another gaudy night and retired to bed after about an hour.
Seth, aware she was an infinitely greater actor than he, psychologically wanted to flaunt his pulling power and decided to play Trixie and Bonny off against each other.
Punishing Trixie for her initial indifference, gradually over the last months he had reeled her in, all over her one moment, pulling up the drawbridge the next, not ringing her for a fort-night, reducing her to desperate uncertainty. Tonight she’d drop into his hand like a ripe fig.
‘Such a sad ending,’ Miss Painswick was saying to Pocock. ‘At least Antony and Cleopatra are together in heaven.’
‘Not sure they’d go to heaven,’ chuntered Debbie.
‘Did you know, in Shakespeare’s day, Cleopatra would have been played by a boy in his late teens,’ said Tilda.
‘Dora’s boyfriend Paris would be perfect for it,’ said Trixie.
‘What bliss,’ Niall murmured to Woody.
‘Drink up,’ said Seth, filling their glasses.
Joey had put his woolly hat on Shakespeare’s bust and tucked in his gold pen. He longed to ring Chrissie, but the Fox was laying off staff and she’d be serving in the bar. Pity they weren’t celebrating there where they needed the custom.
Painswick was very happy because the yard had done so well. Mrs Wilkinson’s health was drunk as often as Seth and Corinna’s.
To Alban, not drinking, everyone seemed very silly. But at least he was warm and the food was delicious. Just before the party, Valent had tipped him off about an impending inquiry into the Iraq war.
‘With your encyclopaedic knowledge of the Middle East, Alban, you’d be a real asset. And the money’d be great and it’s likely to last a year or two. I’m just leaving,’ Valent had added, ‘but I’d be very grateful if you’d keep an eye on things. Not sure I troost Seth not to let things get out of hand. Don’t want Trixie or Etta to get hurt.’
‘Certainly not,’ said a delighted Alban.
He was now enjoying a lovely bop with Etta. He wondered which room she was in. In the absence of Ione he was far less inhibited, as was Niall, who was dancing with Woody, as was Pocock, who later danced with both Etta and Painswick. Alan danced with Tilda.
The director of Antony and Cleopatra rolled up and was soon nose to perfect nose with Bonny.
‘You’d make a wonderful Rosalind,’ he was saying.
Plastered and forgiving her for being so offhand and cool, the syndicate surged round Amber when she arrived. She had washed her long gold hair and was wearing her clinging catkin-yellow mini, showing off her lovely legs in high-heeled black boots.
‘I’d forgotten how gorgeous she was,’ murmured Seth to Alan. ‘Those awful helmets don’t do women jockeys any favours.’
‘Wilkie is so gutsy,’ Amber was saying. ‘Bloody Rogue snatched my whip, we rowed all the way round. Stupid idiot made his run too early, now he’s livid he got beat.’
‘Beaten,’ sighed Alan. ‘Did Bagley Hall teach you even less than my daughter?’
‘Is Marius coming?’ asked Etta.
‘Bastard!’ snarled Amber. ‘After the race he saw my silks were soaked in blood and went berserk because he thought Wilkie had bled. When I explained she’d tossed her head up, practically broken my nose and given me a nosebleed, he just said, “Thank God for that!” ‘
‘Was little House Price OK?’ asked Etta.
‘Put down on the course,’ said Amber dolefully. ‘Even Michelle was in floods, probably more because Harvey-Holden just screamed at her, “Forget the horse, just get the fucking bridle back.” He’s worse than Marius.’ Seeing the shocked faces around her, Amber shrugged. ‘House Price was lame going down to post. H-H prefers horses to break down on the course rather than at home, so he’ll get insurance, not blame.’
Amber took a slug of champagne then looked round the room: ‘Which of you lot am I going to shag tonight? Rafiq’s gone home with the horses and there’s too much competition for Seth.’
‘I’m always in love,’ Seth was telling a pretty reporter from the Stage. ‘If not with myself, then with someone else. Was I really good?’
‘Awesome, so, so sexy, you ought to be in Hollywood.’
Rogue, who’d won on History Painting, and Marius arrived to more loud cheers. Both were extremely drunk. Marius, talking between clenched jaws, was soon telling Joey and Alan that he’d won enough today for a down payment on an all-weather.
‘Then we’ll bury that fucker Harvey-Holden.’
The Major, refreshed from his long sleep during the play, was hot to trot. Disappointed Corinna had pushed off, he asked Etta to dance.
‘Just like Strictly,’ called out Phoebe as they quickstepped round. ‘I can feel Bump kicking,’ she told Debbie, who was guzzling a third helping of sucking pig. ‘Do hope it’s a boy, it would mean so much to Toby. Wonderful if Valent can produce this gel to stop teething troubles.’
The music switched to the Black Eyed Peas. Rogue, to wind Amber up, had removed Trixie’s stilettos, making her two inches smaller than him, and led her off to dance. After some vigorous gyrating, he pressed his cheek against hers and drew her against him. Feeling herself shot into orbit by the biggest tackle in the weighing-in room, Trixie leapt away.
Not as sophisticated as she makes out, thought Rogue in amusement.
‘The poetry’s wonderful, but I still prefer Julius Caesar,’ Tilda, reeling from the bliss of not minding being neglected by Shagger, was saying to Alan.
Having escaped Rogue, Trixie took refuge at a table with Woody and Niall, and was reading next Sunday’s gospel in
Niall’s prayer book.
‘Jesus cast out devils from two men,’ she said furiously, ‘and drove them into a herd of swine, which sent the poor demented pigs jumping off a cliff and drowning. Jesus ought to be shot. Compassion in World Farming and Joanna Lumley would have something to say about that.’
‘You have to put it in context, Trixie,’ said Niall, ‘Jesus and the disciples were Jewish and regarded swine as unclean.’
‘The vicar’s awfully good-looking without his specs,’ murmured Painswick to Etta.
‘Come on, Marius, dance with me,’ said Amber, swaying in front of him and putting her arms round his neck. She must be drunk. He had such a lovely face, so planed and austere, drink never seemed to blur or redden his features.
‘You’ve got to cheer up and stop being so bad-tempered. You’ve had a brilliant day so enjoy the end of it.’ Snakily undulating in front of him, she gazed at his angry closed lips, then she pulled him close and kissed him, on and on and on, until everyone clapped and whooped.
‘Nice?’ she asked as she broke away.
‘Yup. Stop trying to annoy Rogue.’
‘Doesn’t look annoyed to me.’
Across the floor, Rogue, dancing with Bonny, had undone three buttons of her little bleak dress and was kissing her breastbone.
‘Where Pauline’s concerned, I want Valent to achieve closure,’ Bonny was saying.
‘And I want to achieve clothes off,’ giggled Rogue, undoing another button.
‘Good thing Valent isn’t here,’ said Painswick disapprovingly, ‘or he’d bring in the heavy brigade.’
Suddenly Etta felt very tired.
‘Come and join us,’ said Seth, who while he watched developments on the dance floor was sitting with the Major and Alban, idly listening to them banging on about moat control. Pulling out a chair for Etta, he filled her glass.
‘Bolton’s moat’s going to flood the village or cause a drought,’ warned the Major.
‘Someone ought to do something about goat control,’ giggled a swaying Trixie, pausing at the table to drain Etta’s full glass. ‘Chisolm escaped at Warwick and was found in the Owners and Trainers wolfing down all the sandwiches. When the barman threatened to charge her, she charged him. Ha ha ha.’ Trixie laughed too long and loudly at her own joke, then collapsed into the chair beside Etta. ‘I wish Valent was here.’
‘Were here,’ said Seth absent-mindedly.
‘He always makes things safe.’
‘And he could pick up the bill,’ said Shagger, waving an empty bottle at the next table. ‘We’re running out of champagne.’
‘That’s horrible,’ flared up Etta, ‘Valent’s the most generous man in the world,’ then blushed as they all stared at her.
‘Valent has picked up the entire bill,’ said Joey, switching off his mobile and coming out of the dark corner. ‘That’s why we’re all here.’
‘Good God,’ exclaimed Alban.
‘“For his bounty, there was no winter in’t.”’ Alan glared reprovingly at Shagger.
‘Mrs Wilkinson and Valent,’ said Seth, a slight edge to his voice as he raised his glass. He had noticed Bonny and Rogue going outside twenty minutes ago to ‘have a smoke’.
Bonny didn’t smoke, nor did she Normally drink.
‘Corinna’s old enough to be Seth’s mother,’ she was complaining to Rogue as they returned to the tables.
‘Probably is his mother,’ grinned Rogue, ostentatiously wiping off lipstick. ‘Whatever turns you on.’
Bonny’s mobile rang. ‘Oh Valent, dearest, where are you? I miss you so much.’ She ran out of the room.
What a tart, thought Etta. ‘I’m off to bed,’ she said.
‘Must you, darling?’ Seth escorted her to the door but didn’t discourage her. ‘Thank you so much. I’d never have remembered all those words if it hadn’t been for you.’
‘They sounded glorious.’ Then, in the hope that if he were in loco parentis, he might behave better: ‘Will you keep an eye on Trixie? Rogue’s fun but he’s a bit of a wolf.’
‘Of course,’ said Seth, kissing her.
As the disco launched into ‘American Pie’, everyone seemed to surge on to the dance floor.
‘I’ll come with you, Etta,’ cried Phoebe. ‘You are lucky to have that lovely room all to yourself.’
Etta was too depressed and exhausted to offer to exchange it. She’d just taken off her make-up, cleaned her teeth and got into her nightgown when the telephone rang.
After she picked it up, there was a long pause.
‘Etta, this is Alban.’ Even longer pause. ‘Wonder if you’d like a nightcap? I could bring a bottle round. You looked so awfully pretty tonight.’
‘That is so kind,’ cried Etta, trying to sound sleepy, ‘but it’s a bit late. But thank you so, so much, sweet dreams.’
Gosh! Five minutes later, the telephone rang again. It was the Major.
‘You were looking very tasty this evening, young lady. Fancy a noggin?’
‘With you and Debbie?’
‘Old girl’s hit the hay, just yours very truly.’
Etta tried not to laugh.
‘So sorry, Normie, it’s really sweet of you, but I’m a bit tired. Thank you so much for thinking of me.’
Gosh! Two minutes later it rang again.
‘Etta,’ stammered a hoarse voice. ‘Got a big bar of drink here, wonder if you’d like to share it?’
It was Pocock. After all the lovely plants he’d given her, Etta felt a brute saying no.
Collapsing on her bed with hysterical laughter, she fell asleep.
93
The Major – a great warrior brought down by sexual desire – was stalking the passages. He couldn’t waste his Viagra. The soldier’s pole must not fall. He leapt behind a sculpture of Ben Jonson as he saw Seth knock on Bonny’s door and slide inside. He’d be busy for a few hours.
Padding along the passage, moustache erect, the Major found Corinna’s door open. He tiptoed inside.
The bedside light was still on, a bottle of champagne on its side dripping its last dregs on to the carpet. A newspaper lay open at a rave review and a lovely picture. The Major folded it neatly.
Corinna was naked, her long legs apart, lips protruding. An arm thrown back on the pillow raised one big floppy breast higher than the other. Her tummy was concave, she was snoring slightly but still looked ‘As she would catch another Antony/In her strong toil of grace.’
The Major had been unbearably moved by her on the stage, holding his programme over his erection throughout her last scenes. Overcome by lust, glancing down at his stumpy but loyally erect penis, parting his Paisley dressing gown: ‘Long and thin goes right in,’ whispered the Major, ‘but short and thick does the trick.’ Switching off the bedside light, he climbed on top of her.
‘Wakey wakey, here comes Snakey or rather Aspie. The nobleness of life is to do thus.’ He gave a thrust.
It was not quite necrophilia because Corinna did wake up, groaning with delight as his bristling moustache rearranged her pubic hair as he kissed her between the legs until she was flowing like the Nile. Then, plunging into her, he felt her iron muscles tightening round his cock. By Jove!
‘“Give me my robe … I have/Immortal longings in me,”’ she mumbled.
Did she mean her dressing gown, white and silken and tossed over an armchair? Evidently not, for Corinna held out her arms. The Major had found new heaven and new earth.
Rogue Rogers, clocking with fury Amber going upstairs with Marius, joined forces with Seth, who had plans for a foursome.
‘Just like bridge. Shall we ask Alan to join us as well?’ asked Rogue.
‘Christ no, he’s Trixie’s father and a journalist and I don’t fancy Tilda’s teeth on my dick.’
The moment Bonny had come off the telephone to Valent, she had nodded at Seth and disappeared upstairs. Shortly afterwards he had followed her. Registering this, trying not to cry, Trixie fled upstairs to her room, which was called ‘Al
onso’, then realized she’d left her new pink high heels in the Prospero Suite. Opening the door, she went slap into Seth, wearing nothing but a pair of black jeans, from which his body reared sleek, muscular, perfect.
Trixie gave a sob. ‘Go away.’
‘Silly child.’ He shoved her back into ‘Alonso’, pulling her against him.
He smelt of drink, sweat, Terre, his musky, sweet aftershave and, too late, as his lips came down on hers, of Allure, Bonny’s favourite scent.
‘Why are you being so mean?’ she sobbed.
‘I had to punish you,’ murmured Seth. ‘You were so arrogant, Lady Disdain, you needed bringing into line.’
Then he kissed her properly, as he had done so often when he was coaching her, holding her upright as her knees gave way, pouring bliss into her. As he pulled away, she stammered: ‘I’ve been so unhappy, you were so cool in the play then so cold at the party.’
‘Not any more.’ Taking her hand, he frogmarched her down the passage. Only when she was inside ‘Caliban’, with the door shut and locked, did she realize Bonny was lying naked in the centre of a large four-poster.
‘No,’ gasped Trixie, ‘not with her, I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can, little bitch, you’ll adore it.’ Bonny’s words were slurred, her eyes crossing with drink. ‘It takes a woman’s touch.’ She reached out to Trixie’s breasts. ‘Beautiful,’ she murmured, unbuttoning the pink satin coat, cupping, squeezing, caressing. ‘Come on, baby.’ Her touch was unbelievably gentle.
‘I can’t,’ Trixie leapt backwards, ‘it’s gross.’
‘That’s not very polite,’ said a soft Irish voice, ‘when you’re going to have such a lovely time.’
Next moment, iron arms that had driven and thrust a thousand winners past the post gathered her up, ripped off her leggings and pants and laid her beside Bonny.
‘Rogue, how could you?’ sobbed Trixie. ‘Get me out of here.’
‘You’ll love it, angel.’
Suddenly a very large four-poster became very small as four heaving bodies took over.
‘Get her wet first,’ ordered Seth.