For a fraction of a second as Camilla
turned her back to him
to reveal
smooth creamy flesh and the unfastened zip, Jack
wondered whether he should tell her that the outfit was a
disaster, that she still had time to change into
the pale pink
wool dress which made
her look like a rose. For heaven’s sake,
she was even wearing a new, cloying perfume instead of the
usual flowery scent he had always associated with
her. Roz
would know that Camilla was
emulating her and would be
inwardly
laughing all evening. Suddenly Jack didn’t want his
wife to be the
object of his mistress’s amusement. It was unfair
and he felt sickened by the prospect of it. The sense of
clandestine excitement had vanished and all he felt
now was
shame.
‘I much prefer you in your pink dress.’ The words came out
more brutally than he had intended and he
regretted them
instantly, for at least
until that moment Camilla had
felt
attractive. When he had closed the zip and she turned slowly
round
to face him there were tears in her eyes.
‘Thank you, Jack,’ she said in a low, trembling voice. ‘You
certainly know how to boost a woman’s ego.’
By eight forty-five all the other guests had arrived apart from
Roz and
Loulou, and Camilla was struggling not to appear concerned. Surely they wouldn’t
fail to turn up, without even phoning to let her know? Was the evening that
unimportant to
them? Oh God, she prayed as
she held out a plate of hors-
d’oeuvres
and watched Margaret Jameson choose the biscuit
with the largest prawn on it, please just make them turn up and
I
promise I’ll never complain about anything else again.
The cow, thought Jack, not knowing
whether to be relieved
or angry again. She isn’t going to come. She’s chosen to
humiliate us and make us look ridiculous in front of our
friends. I’ll bloody kill her if she doesn’t turn up, I swear I will .. .
When the doorbell rang Camilla
thought for a moment that
it was an hallucination. Then she realized that the other guests
had stopped talking and that Jack had
turned pale, pausing in
the act of
pouring a drink as if someone had pulled his plug out.
‘Super, just in time,’ she heard herself saying. The
incredible confidence with which the words came out both amazed and
impressed her. Stuff you, Margaret Jameson, she
thought
happily, for looking at your watch every three minutes and
whispering to your husband out of the corner of
your nasty,
narrow mouth. My friends are here and they’re going to
impress the hell out of you.
Chapter 3
’Oh well,
here we go,’ murmured Roz as Camilla’s silhouette advanced towards them and the
front door was flung open.
‘
Cami, you look wonderful!’ she said with a quick hug and
a smile. ‘I’m so sorry we’re late but I was held up at the television studios
and then when I went to meet Lou she was in the middle
of a slanging match with a photographer from the
Express
and
I
simply had to wait and see who won. Have we held everything up?’
‘
Of course not!’
Camilla looked so happy to see them both
that Roz almost felt guilty.
She hadn’t lied, but neither had she mentioned the fact that they and the
photographer had sunk two bottles of champagne in order to celebrate his
defeat. ‘Come in
and meet everyone – we’ve
got time for another drink before
we eat. Lou, shall I take your coat?’
Loulou slid out of her studded
leather jacket and adjusted
the wide
neckline of her gold lame top. In a tight black leather mini skirt, seamed
stockings and stiletto heels she looked both
incongruous
– angel turned tart – and stunningly beautiful.
Camilla felt a thrill of
triumph just wondering what Margaret Jameson would make of her.
Roz, too, was spectacular in suede jeans and a man’s white
dress-shirt, her dark hair slicked back from her face so that her
wayward features were enhanced to feline
proportions. As
Camilla led the way back into the sitting room – the
expectant hush told her that their every word had been overheard and
rapaciously stored for retelling at future parties – she felt the sudden crazy
urge to fling open the door and announce proudly that the prodigal daughters
had returned.
It was going to be all right, Jack decided with
considerable
relief. Roz, the bitch, was
behaving perfectly and had met his
eyes without even a flicker of
recognition when Camilla had proudly introduced them to each other. And Christ,
she looked
beautiful tonight. Roz and Loulou
were like night and day, one
so
mysterious and dark and the other so ethereally fair. He
couldn’t tell whether Loulou had been briefed on
the situation;
she, too, greeted him with absolute decorum. He watched
for a second as Loulou sucked an ice cube with an unconsciously provocative
gesture, then hastily looked away once more as a prickle of sweat caught
against his shirt collar. God, if he wasn’t
already
sleeping with Roz, he could quite easily have been
tempted to make a
serious play for this gorgeous friend of hers.
‘So you three girls were at school together,’ said
Margaret Jameson, who loved to dominate dinner party conversations and
who was in her element here, with the famous Roz
Vallender
at one end of the table and
the gossip columnists’ darling,
Loulou Marks, at the other. She could
hardly wait to name-drop
at the next bridge
club meeting on Thursday and fully intended
to squeeze every last drop of newsworthiness from tonight’s
dinner.
Roz smiled bleakly, toying with a
mushroom on her fork
and
Camilla, realizing that Roz wasn’t intending to answer Margaret’s rhetorical
question, rushed blindly in.
‘I look so much older than Roz and Lou, I expect,’ she
said
hurriedly. ‘And they’re both so
wonderfully slim, of course,
whereas I put on
stones
when I had
the children, although even when we were at school I was much bigger than they
were. I must look ten years older by comparison now . .
You’re kidding, thought Jack, and
risked the briefest of smiles
in Roz’s direction. Roz, to her amazement, felt her stomach
curl with disgust at his complicity and dropped her fork
to her plate with a crash.
‘Don’t put yourself down, Cami,’ she said in a firm voice.
‘You’ve got a perfectly good figure, and most men prefer a few
curves anyway. Don’t you agree, Jack?’ she
concluded, fixing
him with a distinctly cool gaze.
The super-bitch, he thought to
himself, inwardly furious.
Well, two
could play at that bloody game.
‘
Absolutely,’ he
replied, smiling at Camilla more persuasively
than he had for years. ‘I love my wife just as she is, don’t I
darling?’
Flushing
with pleasure and embarrassment, Camilla grabbed her wine
glass and swallowed the contents. Jack
never
compli
mented her on anything any more and to have done so
in front
of all their guests – even if Roz, bless her, had rather forced
the issue – made her feel quite exhilarated.
‘
Thank you, darling,’
she said, attempting to sound as casual
as if he paid her at least a
dozen such compliments every day. ‘More courgettes, anyone?’
As the dinner progressed, Roz and Loulou became more
animated, sensing the reason for their invitation and obligingly forming a
double-act in order to entertain the other guests and
retain Camilla’s credibility among them. Roz was still angry
with Jack for some reason she couldn’t clearly
define and
Loulou had decided quite simply that she didn’t like him. If
he
thought he was being clever, entertaining
both his wife and
mistress at the
same table and being seen to get away with it,
she thought he was merely
fatuous – and entirely resistible.
Twice he had turned his smooth seducer’s
gaze upon her,
confident that she
would respond, and twice she had longed to
hurl
her plate at his handsome head. She was also slightly
ashamed of herself. At first when Roz had
explained the
situation, Loulou had
thought it amusing. Now that she was
here,
however, and able to see how desperately hard Camilla
was trying, she was sickened by the deception and
her heart
went out to Camilla, the
most innocent of innocent parties. It
was
clear that Jack had sapped whatever confidence she had
once had, and now
he was playing on it with brutal, self-centred satisfaction, entirely for his
own amusement. She wouldn’t have minded betting, either, that he was just as
selfish in bed.
Oh, no charmer this one, thought
Loulou with compassion
for Camilla
who so obviously worshipped him.
At the same time Camilla wondered if
she had ever been
happier
in her life. Looking around her subtly lit sitting-room,
at her guests talking and laughing and so obviously
enjoying themselves, she wanted to burst with joy and pride. Her house looked
lovely – she was thankful she had rushed out and bought
those bronze and cream chrysanthemums at the last minute –
and dinner had been a huge success. And since I
cooked it, I
have been a success too,
Camilla realized almost with amaze
ment. Roz had praised her home and
admired her ludicrously expensive dress and Loulou had noticed the photographs
of the children and had complimented her extravagantly.
‘
They’re beautiful,
Cami. A pair of absolute stunners – and
they look so much like you.’
Really, she thought happily, it had been
the
most perfect
evening.
‘Well, I’m afraid I have a hideously early start tomorrow
morning,’ Roz announced at eleven o’clock, and was gratified to sense the
disappointment of the rest of the party. She was the
main attraction, after all. As soon as she left, their sparkling
moods
would begin to disintegrate and they, too, would make guilty excuses to leave.
Rising to her feet and smoothing her hands over her narrow
suede-clad hips, she gave Camilla a perfect
smile. ‘I’m afraid I’ve had far too much to drink so I’ll abandon the car, but
it’s
too cold to walk. I have a small apartment in the Barbican,’ she
added, catching the look of astonishment on Camilla’s face.
Presumably she imagined that Roz was planning a
midnight
hike down to the Cotswolds. ‘Could I possibly phone for a cab
from here?’
‘Oh, that’s silly,’ protested Camilla, ‘Jack can drive
you. The
Barbican’s only a couple of miles
away. It wouldn’t be any
trouble, would it darling?’
‘
Of course it would be
trouble,’ Roz replied evenly, so that
only
Jack would read the underlying meaning into her words.
She smiled at
Camilla once more, without even glancing in his
direction. ‘He really shouldn’t risk it. Please, I’d be much
happier
taking a cab.’
Feeling guiltily relieved, because she didn’t feel
confident
enough to maintain the party
unaided, Camilla jumped to her
feet.
‘In that case I’ll phone one now. Jack, could you refill
some glasses while I’m gone?’
The fern-like study was cool and quiet as she reached for
the phone and leant against the edge of Jack’s desk before dialling.
More alcohol than she was used to had blurred her
senses
slightly, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. She struggled for
a few seconds to recall the taxi-cab number before remembering that she had
phoned them this afternoon in order to catch the
florist. Ordinarily she would have walked, but thanks to her
earlier
extravagance she now had the number on memory.
Press M, thought Camilla with a
giggle, for motor car. M,
for marvellous, miraculous dinner party. M for magnificent
evening.
‘Hello,’ said a female voice as the telephone was finally
answered.