Lisa & C o
Jilly Cooper is a journalist, author and media superstar. The author of many number one bestselling books, she lives in Gloucestershire.
She has been awarded honorary doctorates by the Universities of Gloucestershire and Anglia Ruskin, and won the inaugural Comedy Women in Print lifetime achievement award in 2019. She was also appointed DBE in 2024 for services to literature and charity.
FICTION
NON-FICTION
By Jilly Cooper
The Rutshire Chronicles:
Riders
Rivals
Polo
The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous Appassionata Score!
Pandora Wicked! Jump! Mount! Tackle!
How to Stay Married
How to Survive from Nine to Five
Jolly Super
Men and Supermen
Jolly Super Too Women and Superwomen
Work and Wedlock
Jolly Superlative
Super Men and Super Women
Super Jilly Class
Super Cooper
Intelligent and Loyal
Jolly Marsupial
Animals in War
The Common Years
Hotfoot to Zabriskie Point (with Patrick Lichfield)
How to Survive Christmas
Turn Right at the Spotted Dog
Angels Rush In Araminta’s Wedding
Between the Covers
CHILDREN’S BOOKS
Little Mabel
Little Mabel’s Great Escape
Little Mabel Wins
Little Mabel Saves the Day
ROMANCE
ANTHOLOGIES
Emily
Bella
Harriet
Octavia
Prudence
Imogen
Lisa & Co
The British in Love
Violets and Vinegar
LISA AND CO
Jilly Cooper
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
Penguin Random House, One Embassy Gardens, 8 Viaduct Gardens, London SW11 7BW www.penguin.co.uk
Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
First published in Great Britain in 1981 as LOVE AND OTHER HEARTACHES by Arlington Books Ltd
Corgi edition published as LISA & CO in 1982
Corgi edition reissued 2005
Corgi edition reissued 2025
Copyright © Jilly Cooper 1981
Jilly Cooper has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9780552152556
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ForRosemaryNolanwithloveandgratitude becausesheencouragedmetowritethesestories inthefirstplace
LISAANDCO
Introduction
AllmylifeIwantedtobeawriterandscribbled awayatshortstories,plays,andthefirstchaptersof frightfulnovels,butnevertriedveryhardtoget anythingpublished.WhenIwastwenty-nine,while employedinthepublicitydepartmentofWilliam Collinsthepublishers,afriend,CherryLewis,told meshewasworkingonanewOdhamsmagazinefor teenagerscalled Intro.Sheintroducedmetothe editor,MarjorieFergusson,whoaskedmeifI’dlike toeditthefiction.Shewaslookingforstories,she said,whichwerefunnyandrealistic,andwould appealtothenew,optimistic,flower-powermoodof thelatesixties.
Atfirst,theonlystoriesIcouldfindwereeither tooheavilyromanticandhumourless,ortoo pornographicforateenagemagazine,whichstill didn’tallowyoutomentionanypartsofthefemale anatomybetweentheneckandthekneecaps.We didpublish,however,alovelystorybyVirginia Ironside,andanotherbyathenunknownwriter calledBerylBainbridge.
Finally,indespairofeverfindingenough stories, I
satdownandwroteonemyself.ForaweekIbitmy nails,thenMarjorieFergussonsentforme.‘You’re arotteneditor,’shesaid,‘andthisstoryisnogood forus,butit’swellwritten.IfIwereyouI’dgiveup anyideasofediting,andconcentrateonwriting.’
IwalkedbacktoCollinsonair.Forthenextyear, Ididverylittleworkforeitherofmytwojobs,but insteadspentmytimeinofficehourswritingstories.
Thefirstone, TemporarySet-Back ,waspublishedin Intro in1967.Othersfollowed: TheRedAngora Dress,ChristmasStocking and An UpliftingEvening. Fewexperienceshaveeverequalledtheecstasyof seeingmynameinprintforthefirsttime.With SisterToTheBride and MayTheBestGirlWin ,I evenachievedthedizzyheightsof Woman’sOwn. TheSquarePeg,oneofmyfavouritestories, appearedin Woman’s Weekly. Petticoat published Lisa and ForsakingAllOthers.JohnnieCasanova appearedin 19.PoliticalAsylum ,writtenin1968, neverfoundahomeinamagazineatall,everyone thenconsideringittobefartoorisquéandprobably libellousaswell.
Itwasonthestrengthofthesestories,which areallgatheredtogetherinthisbook,thatanother friend,Ilsa Yardly,introducedmeto GodfreySmith, theneditorofthe SundayTimes colourmagazine, whoaskedmetowriteapieceonbeingayoung wife.Asaresultofthisarticle,HaroldEvans,then editorofthe SundayTimes,gavemeacolumnon the Look pages,andIwassuddenlylaunchedona brandnewjournalisticcareer.
Thisbookalsocontainsthreelongstoriesstarted inthesixties,whichIfinallyfinishedthisyear.They are Kate’sWedding,APressingEngagement and The UglySwan.
I cannot pretend that thesestories areliterate. Theyarewrittenpurelytoentertain.Ihaveupdated wherepossiblebuttheirmoodisrootedfirmlyin thesixties,whenweallliveditupandhadagreat dealmorefun,Ithink,thanpeopledotoday. Itwasatimebeforethewomen’smovementhad gainedsomuchascendency,whentheyoungwere stilloptimisticaboutmarriage,andbelievedthat GodwasinhisHeavenifallwasMrRightwiththe world.
JillyCooper,1981
APressingEngagement
DarrellFrenchdidnotlooklikeafilmdirector.He woreapinstripedsuit,aregimentaltie,andawatch chainloopedacrosshiswaistcoat.Hewaswashing downRennieswithPerrierwater,drunkstraight fromthebottle,andhehadthemostchaoticoffice Hesterhadeverseen.Books,scripts,papers,copies of Spotlight and TheStage werepiledsohighonhis desk,itwasliketalkingtosomeoneoveragarden wall.
‘MylastPA,’hesaidwearily,‘spentalldaypainting hernails,talkingtohergirlfriendsonthetelephone, andscrewingmymostimportantclients.Shecouldn’t type,ordoshorthand,orspell,orevenmakeNescafé. She oncetriedto book NanetteNewmanfor thelead inawarfilminsteadofPaulNewman.’
Hesterburstoutlaughing.
‘Believeme,’saidDarrellFrench,‘itwasnot funnyatthetime.’
Thetelephonerang.Itwasseveralsecondsbefore hecouldlocateitinthedébrisonhisdesk.
‘Well,puthimthrough...Hi,David,howare you...Bugger,’herattledthereceiverbutton
hysterically,‘youcuthimoff,youimbecile...well gethimbackagain...David,yesNiven,atthe SouthofFrancenumber...you’dbettergothrough theexchangethen.’
Hesighedandputdownthetelephonereceiver, staringatHesterbeadily.‘Asyoucansee,Iamup theproverbialordurecreek.I’mentirelydependent onadecentPAandI’mfedupwithflash,beautiful, illiterategirlswhoarenotpreparedtowork,but whofindtheideaofmoviesglamorous.Inthelast twodays,Ihaveinterviewedmorethanahundred girls.You’retheonlyonewho’stakenthetroubleto wearaskirt.’
HelookedatHesteragain,takingintheround sweetface,thegentlycurvingmouth,theshiny copperhairdrawnlooselyintoacoilatthenapeof theneck,andtheskinasclearandbrownlyglowing asPears’soap.
‘Youseemanicegirl,’hewentondubiously,‘but Icouldbewrong.ImustalsotellyouthatIama happilymarriedmanwiththreechildren,forwhom Ihavetopayninethousandpoundsayearinschool feesaftertax.ThisIamcapableofdoingifthings arerunningsmoothlyattheoffice.Ihavenever madeapassatanyofmyPA’s.’
‘Youseemtohavehad anawfultime,’ saidHester sympathetically.
‘Ineedalotofcherishing,’saidDarrellFrench. ‘I’mofftoNairobionMondayfortnighttomakea televisionseriesof TheGrassisSinging.’ ‘DorisLessing?’askedHester.
‘Well,that’sastepintherightdirection,’said Darrell French. ‘Can yougetawayfromyourpresent jobbythen?’
‘Oh,yesplease,’breathedHester.
‘Well,you’dbettergo andgetsomejabs –cholera, yellowfever,TAB–thatone’snasty,probablylay yououtfortwenty-fourhours.Isyourpassportin order?’
Hester noddedincredulously.‘Are youactually offeringmethejob?’
‘Iam.Isathousandenough?’
‘Ayear?’askedHester,herfacefalling.
DarrellFrenchlaughed.‘No,amonth.You’renot marriedorheavilyinvolvedoranythingareyou?’
Hester’smindwasspinningatthethoughtofso much money. Shehesitated foramomentbefore answering–youcouldhardlycallherinvolvement withJulianheavy.‘No,’shefinallysaid,‘definitely not.’
‘Good–thisjobislikelytotakeyouabroadfor weeks,evenmonthsonend,andhusbands don’tlike thatverymuch.’
HestertriedtoringJulianfroma telephone box themomentshewasasafedistancefromDarrell French’soffice.Sheabsolutelyhatedbeingtheone tocallhim,particularlyashehadn’ttelephonedher foroveraweek.Butadazzlingnewjobwassurelya legitimateexcuse.ItwasJulianafterallwhohad alwaysnaggedhertogetoutofherpresentjob,and she could soundhappyandontopoftheworld,
insteadofstiffandstammeringasshewouldhave done normally. Herhandsgrewdamponthe receiver,asthenumberrangonandon.Julianmust beoutornotanswering.Heoftenswitchedoffhis telephonewhenhewasimmersedinwork.
Comingoutofthetelephonebox,Hesterwent straightintoanoff-licenceandboughtabottleof DomPerignon.Thenshehailedataxi.Ifshewas goingtobeearningtwelvethousandpoundsayear, shecouldaffordafewluxuries.
‘Igotthejob,’sheshouted,assherushedintothe outerofficewhich sheshared with Beverly,theSales Director’ssecretary.
‘Fantastic,’saidBeverly,whohadfinishedher frugallunchofcottagecheese,flavouredwith prawns,andwasnowstirringSweetexwithaballpointpenintoapapercupofblackcoffee.
‘Ican’tbelieveit,’saidHester,unpinningher hair,soitfellbronzeandshiningtohershoulders. ‘Oodlesofmoney,andsuchasweetman,andDavid Nivenrangup in themiddle. I’vebought this to celebrate.’Shewavedthebottleofchampagne.
‘I’monadiet,’saidBeverly,‘andyou’vegotthe Fisher-Holmesreporttotypethisafternoon.’
‘Idon’tcare,’saidHester,rippingthegoldpaper offthetopofthebottlewithherfingernails,‘two weeksonMonday,I’mofftoKenyaonlocation.’
‘Blimey,’saidBeverly,gettingacoupleofplastic mugsoutofthecupboard.‘WhatonearthwillMr Petriesay?’
Yesindeed,wonderedHester,whatwouldMr Petriesay?Shehadworkedforhimforsixyears, eversinceshe’dlefthersecretarialcollege. Althoughtheworkhadbeenhardandoftenboring, shehadbeensofondofeveryoneintheoffice,and MrPetrie hadalways lookedsomortifiedeverytime shesuggestedshemightmoveon,thatshe’dbeen unabletotearherselfaway.
Recently,however,she’dreachedtheendof hertether.Shehadbeenworkinglateeverynight, Julianseemedtobeshowinglessandlessinterest inher,andshenevermetanynewmen.Well,she’d gotherselfoutoftherutbylandinganewjob. NowshehadtofacetheawfultaskoftellingMr Petrie.
Thecorkflewoutofthewindow,endangering thelivesoftwopigeonsmatingontheroof,andthe champagne,shakeninHester’sexcitement,gushed alloverthefadedgreencarpet,asshefilledupthe twomugs.
‘Toyourbrilliantcareer,’saidBeverly.‘How manycaloriesarethereinchampagne?’
‘Hardlyany,’saidHester.‘Iknow–I’lltellMr PetrieI’vegotengaged.’
‘Youhaven’t,’saidBeverly.
‘IcanpretendIhave.NottoJulian–I’mmuch toosuperstitioustoriskthat,butI’llsayI’vehad awhirlwindcourtshipandamsuddenlygoingto marrysomeoneelse.’
‘Dodgy,’saidBeverly,‘he’sboundtowantto knowwhoheis.’
Hesterhadanotherbrainwave.‘I’llsayI’mgoing tomarryNico.’
‘Who’she?’
‘NicholasCalvert–wewerebroughtuptogether, he’stheonlyplatonicfriendI’vegot.’
‘Won’themind?’askedBeverly. ‘Hewon’tknow,’saidHester.
MrPetriehadhadagoodlunch.Hiswhitehairwas slightlyruffled,hisfacemoremagentathanever.As agesturetotheheatoftheday,hehaddiscarded his waistcoat.WhenHesterbroughtinhershorthandbook,hesmiledfondlyat her, as well he might. MrPetrie’scontinuingexistenceatBatemanand Mathers,whenhewaswellbeyondretiringage,was entirelyduetoHester’sefficiency.Alldaylong shewasacaptiveaudience,forcedtolistentohis jokesandhis troubles, smiling athisdictated quips,correctinghis grammar,and steering him with skilledanonymitythroughtheday’sroutine.Mr PetrieonlyappreciatedthatHesterwassympathetic ontheear,andalmostmoredelightfulontheeye. Hethoughthowparticularlyfetchingshelooked today,lushlyspillingoutofhernewwillow-green suit.
Hegavehersomeletters.Hesterremindedhimhe wouldneedthedraftoftheFisher-Holmesreportby thatevening,double-spacedsothathecouldtinker aboutwithitathome.Thenbuoyedupbyhalfa bottleofchampagne,anddoodlingfranticallyaround thespiralsofhernotebook,shegaveinhernotice.
MrPetrie’smagentafacelostafewdegreesof colour.‘OhHester,youcan’tleaveme.’
‘I must,’shesaid,goingscarletatthethumpinglie, ‘I’mgettingmarriedyousee.’
Thiswasadifferentmatteraltogether.MrPetrie wasadeeplysentimentalman.Immediatelyhe waddledroundthedeskandkissedheronthe cheek.‘Mydear!Congratulations!Itcouldn’thave happenedtoanicerperson.Andwhoistheverylucky youngman–isitJulian?’heaskedashadedoubtfully.
Hestercrossedherfingersbehindherback.‘Well, actually no,it’sanoldfriendfrommychildhood calledNicholasCalvert.We’veknowneachother forages,butsuddenlythewholethinggelled.’
‘Splendid,splendid,’saidMrPetrie.‘Iwouldn’t havelikeditifyou’dabandonedmeforanother boss.AndI’msorelievedthisyoungmancan supportyou,withoutyourhavingtogoonworking. IalwaysfeelsosorryforpooryoungMrsDaviesin accounts, staggeringhomewithall those carrier bags everyevening,andthenhavingtocleantheflatand cookherhusband’sdinner.Nowwhendoyouwant toleaveus?’
Hestersteppedupthedoodling.‘Well,inafortnight’stime,I’mafraid,we’regettingmarriedin–er –sixweeks,andIreallyneedamonthathomefirst toorganizethewedding.’
‘That’sallright,’saidMrPetrie,suddenlylooking doleful.‘Isupposeyou’d betterput an advertisementinthepaper–perhapsyoucouldinterviewthe applicants.ButohHester,Ishallmissyou.’
FortunatelyforHester,atthatmomenttheinternal telephonestartedringing.ItwastheManaging DiretorwantingMrPetrie,whopromptlystartedto flap.‘Where’sthebackgroundtotheMarshand Follifootdeal?’
‘Iputthememoonyourdeskthismorning,’said Hestersoothingly.‘Hereitis.’Sheextracteditfrom underthe SportingTimes andacopyof Playboy.
‘Thankyou,’saidMrPetrie,scuttlingoutofthe office,‘Ihopeyou’regoingtoaskNancyandmeto thewedding.’
ThereweretearsinHester’seyes,asshewentout ofhisoffice.‘I’vedoneit,’shesaidtoBeverly.‘I haven’tfeltsuchaheelsinceIletmybrother’s gerbiloutofitscagewhenIwasseven,andthecat ateit.’
‘CanIbebridesmaid?’saidBeverly.‘Iwishyou hadn’tmademedrinkallthatchampagne,thisletter isstraightTippex.’
MrPetriesentforHesterlaterintheafternoon andsaidhehadjusttelephonedhiswife,Nancy.
‘Ican’ttellyouhowdelightedsheis,sadforme, ofcourse,butthrilledforyou.Shewasalways saying shecouldn’tunderstandwhyalovelygirllikeyou wasn’tsnappedupyearsago.Shewantstoknow whatyourfiancédoes.’
‘He’sastockbroker–intheCity,’saidHester, sensingtrouble,butnotsurefromwhatdirection.
‘Splendid,’saidMrPetrie.‘Well,Nancy’sgotto comeuptoLondonsometimefortheConstable
exhibitionattheRoyalAcademy,andshewantsus togivealittleengagementpartyforyoubothatthe officethatday,soshecansaygoodbyetoyou.’
Hesterturnedasgreenashersuit.‘Nico’sgoing abroadnextweek.’
‘Well,makeittheweekafter,’saidMrPetrie,‘it’ll beyourlastweek,sowecangiveyouaroyal send-off.’
Nicowaswithaclient,whenHestertelephonedhis office.HerangbackwhenshewasinMrPetrie’s officegivinghimtheFisher-Holmesreportandthe remainingletterstosign.
‘Your‘‘fiancée’s’’onthe’phone,’saidBeverly, poppingherheadroundthedoor,withamalicious gleaminhereyes.
‘Putitthroughhere,Iwon’tlisten,’saidMrPetrie untruthfully.
‘Hello,Nico,’saidHesterpickingupthetelephone,andonceagainblushingscarlet.
‘Hes,hownicetohearyou.’
‘Darling!’Hesterdroppedhervoiceanoctave, ‘Arewemeetinguplaterthisevening?’
Nicosoundedsurprised.‘Werewemeanttobe? I’vegottodriveAnnabeltotheairport.’
‘Well,afterthatthen,itdoesn’tmatterhowlateit is.’
‘Can’twemakeittomorrow?’saidNico.
HesterlookedatMrPetrie’sfountainpen–static overthebluewritingpaper. ‘Ido so wanttoseeyou, darling,’shesaidevenmorehuskily.
‘OK,I’lldroproundabouteleven,’saidNico,a littletakenabackbyHester’sinsistence.
‘That’llbelovely.’Shetookadeepbreath,‘And, Nicodarling,Idoloveyou.’
Nicosoundedstartled.‘Hes,haveyoubeendrinking?’
‘Metoo,darling.Ican’twaittoseeyou.Bye,my angel,’murmuredHester,andslammingdownthe receivershefledoutoftheroom.
Ahyounglove,thoughtMrPetrie.
‘HowthehelldidMachiavellidoit?’saidHester, collapsingbehindherdeskandputtingherburning faceinherhands.
‘Oh,whatatangledwebweweave,’saidBeverly. ‘Imustsayyour‘‘fiancé’’soundsdeliciousonthe telephone.’
‘He’sinfinitelytoonicetogetcaughtupinamess likethis,’agreedHester.
Hesterbought abottle of whisky,andsat inher emptyflat,wishingJulianwouldringher.She lookedathisphotographonthemantelpiece:surly, hopelesslygood-looking,darkeyesbroodingwithan intensitythathecertainlydidn’tfeeltowardsher.
On the table,withthetoppagecoatedinginger catfur,werethethreecopiesshehadtypedofhis latestbook.Itwascalled: Stratification,GenderRoleStereotypingandSexualBehaviourPatterns AmongMiddleClass Siblings, with Special Reference toCanveyIsland .
Hesterhadn’tunderstoodmuchofitbutbelieved
Julian,whowasseniorsociologyprofessorat LondonUniversity,whenhetoldheritwasadeeply significant,seminalwork.Thetypescripthadbeen readyforhimaweeknow,butshelikedtokeepan excusetoringhimuphersleeve,justincaseshegot toodesperate.Nowshehadhernewjobtotell himaboutaswell,butalthoughshe’dtriedhisflat severaltimesthateveningtherewasnoanswer.She hadbeeninlovewithJulianfortwoyears.Ongood days,shefantasizedabouttheirfuturetogether.On baddaysshefeltcutofffromallhumanwarmth.
Abovetheforestofshinygreenplantsonthe windowledge,shewatchedthecolourdrainoutof theCambridge-bluesky,andthegreatplanetrees round the common fillupwith blackshadows.Itwas oneofthosestiflinglyhumidnightsthatdescendon Londonlikeablanket.Everywindowwasopenin theflatinthehopeofinducingsomebreezetoenter.
Instead,Hockney,Hester’sgingertomcat,pushed hiswaythroughtheplantsmewingdisapprovingly, andlandedwithaheavythudatherfeet.Hestarted toweavefurrilyroundherbarelegs,thenthinking betterofit,gaveherarightandleftonthecalfwith fat,unsheathedpaws.
‘Nasty,ungratefulcreature,’chidedHester.‘I bought youatinofsalmontocelebrate.We’rein the money,Hockney.’
Inthekitchen,sheopenedthetin.Hockney,however,tookafewmouthfuls,andthendisdainfully scratchedupallthenewspaperundertheplate,and wanderedoffintothedrawingroomtowashhimself
onJulian’stypescript.Hestershooedhimaway,and shookthegingerfuroffthetopcopy.
If Julian hadhadthis typed professionally,she thought, itwouldhavecosthimatleasttwohundred andfiftypounds–hiswriting hadbeen absolute murdertodecipher.Thenshefeltguilty.Ofcourse shehaddoneitforlove,butoneneededalittlelove inreturn.Sheknewitwasnearingtheendofthe universitytermandhemustbedesperatelybusy. Perhapsinthelongsummervac,he’dhavemore timeforher.
Shelooked atherwatch –aquarter toeleven –Nicoprobablywouldn’thaveeaten.Atleast shecouldmakehimanomelette.Shepickedsome thymeandmarjoramfromthewindowbox,and wentintothekitchentochopthemup.
NicoCalverthadbeentheschoolfriendofher elderbrother,Michael,thatshehadlikedthebest. Heusedtostaywiththemoftenintheholidays,and she’dhadamildcrushonhim,becausehewas clever,andquiet,andlaughedeasily,andnever expectedhertobeanythingshewasn’t.Shewasalso impressedbythewayhedidn’tmindifhelostatthe endlessgames oftennis, croquet,poker andvingt-etun,they’dplayedthroughthoselong,hotsummers. Inawayshefelthewasmoreofabrothertoher thanMichael.
Michael,who’dbeenbacktostaywithNico’s familyinSomerset,hadoftenimpliedthatNicowas rathersmart.Hismotherwasapeer’sdaughter,the familyseemedtoownalotofland,andafterNico
leftschool,he’dbeenconsideredsomethingofa Deb’sDelight,andoftenappearedinthegossip columnsphotographedwithasuccessionofpretty girls.Butheneverdroppednames, orboastedabout theinvitations,thickasapackofcards,onhis mantelpiece.
Nordidheevergrumblethat(becauseofthe cripplingestatedutieswhenhisfatherdied)hewas thefirstmemberofthefamilywho’dseriouslyhad toearnhisownliving.Hewasobviouslymiserable workingas astockbroker –itwasratherlikekeeping agundogcoopedupinastuffyLondonbedsitter.
Forthelasteighteenmonths,sinceNicohad falleninlovewithAnnabel,Hesterhadseenmuch lessofhim.Annabelwasamodel,withinfinitely morebeautythantalent,whowantedtobreakinto acting.Shewasenormouslyfanciedinthemarket place,and,ratherlikeHockney,wasallsoftcurves andmeltingeyesonemoment,thenscratchingand clawingthenext.ShegaveNicoahardtimebecause hewasn’trichenoughtotakehertonightclubs everyevening,orflyher–whenshefeltsoinclined –toexoticpartiesindistantcornersoftheworld. Yetsheraisedhellifhelookedatotherwomen. Hesterhadmethertwiceanddislikedherexceedingly.Shewasthesortofpersonwhoonlywatered plantswhentheywereabouttoexpire.
Nicoarrivedabouteleven.Hewaswearinga yellowandwhitestripedshirt,andhadtakenoffhis tie,andthejacketofhisdarkgreysuit.Helooked tiredand verypale.Annabelmusthavebeenplaying
himup,thoughtHestersavagely.Hewastalland rangy,withstraightsandyhair,andnothingexceptionalabouthis bonyface,except freckles,aflat noseandsleepyambereyes.Hesterpouredhima verystiffdrink.
‘Ibetyouhaven’thadanythingtoeat,’shesaid.
‘I had lunch,Ithink,’saidNicocollapsingontothe sofa.‘I’mnotveryhungry,toobloodyhot.’
‘ItmustbehellintheCity.’
‘Myofficeislikeasauna.’
‘How’syourmother?’askedHester.
‘Stillmissingmyfather,butgettingoverit–slowly.Herrealproblemsarefinancial.Thefarm manager’srippingheroffright,leftandcentre.I reallyoughttopackintheStockExchange,andgo homeandrunthings.’
‘Whydon’tyou?’saidHester.‘Youalways wantedto.’
‘Wouldn’tearnenough money,’saidNico.‘My fatherletthingsgosobadlyattheend,it’llbe fiveyearsbeforewestartbreakingeven,andthat’s dependentongoodsummers.Ican’tseeAnnabelas afarmer’swifeeither.’
‘Shemightgetusedtoit,’saidHesterunconvincingly.‘She’dhaveyou.’
‘Andhay fever,’saidNico.‘Shehatesthecountry.’
‘Howisshe?’askedHester,noticingthatthe littlebunchedlinesatthecornersofhiseyeshad deepenedsincethey’dlastmet.
‘Neveratherbestbeforeaflight.’
‘Where’sshegone?’
‘Rome,modellingfor Vogue ,andauditioningfor somefilmpart.’Helookedmiserablydownathis glass,‘Wehadahellofarowbeforesheleft,she threwatelephonedirectoryatme.’
‘Whichone?’saidHester.
Nicosmiledslightly.‘TheE-K,atleastitwasn’t Debrett’s.Fortunatelyshemissedandsmashed thatMeissenbowlMickieMiddlesexgaveherfor Christmas,whichputherinanevenworsemood. Wedidn’tspeakonthewaytotheairport.ThenI’m sureIsawJamieCavendishgoingintothedeparture loungejustaheadofus.’
‘Doesn’thehaveratheranicewife?’saidHester. ‘He’shadseveral,’saidNicogloomily.‘Itdoesn’t stophimrunningafterAnnabel.’
‘Mighthavebeenacoincidence,’saidHester soothingly.‘He was probablyflying somewherequite different.’
Nicoshookhishead.‘Probablyexplainedwhyshe wasinsuchafoulmood,expectshewasterrifiedof beingrumbled.Christ,I’msorry,Imuststopbellyaching.’
‘Annabelly-aching,’saidHester,goingintothe kitchen.‘Helpyourselftoanotherdrink,I’mgoing tomakeyousomesupper.’
Shebrokethreeeggsintoabowlwithcream,salt andpepper,andwasjustaddingtheherbswhen Nicowanderedin.
‘Whatwasthereasonforthatextraordinaryconversationwehadonthetelephonethisafternoon?’ hesaid,stoopingtorubHockneybehindtheears.
‘Iwasjustcomingtothat,’saidHestercautiously. As shewaitedforthebuttertosmoke in thefrying pan,shetoldhimaboutthenewjob.Nicowas delighted.
‘I’vebeenmoaningonaboutmyboringmiseries, andyou’vebeenburstingwiththisamazingpieceof news.I’msosorry,Hes.Tellmemoreaboutit.’
‘Well,it’sgoingtotakemeabroadalot.’
‘That’sagoodthingforastart–getyouaway fromtheHistoryMan.’
‘Iwishyouwouldn’tcallhimthat,’snapped Hester,tippingtheeggsintothefryingpan.‘Julian isn’talwayshavingaffairswithhisstudents,norany ofthedons’wiveseither.He justworksterribly, terriblyhard.’
‘Producingrubbishlikethattypescriptnextdoor –Julianknowsasmuchaboutsexualbehaviour patternsasHockneyknowsabouthang-gliding.’
Hestergiggled.‘Hockney’sverygoodathanggliding,youshouldhaveseenhimhalfwayup Julian’strouserlegswhenhewasakitten.’
‘How’sJulian’smarriage?’
‘He’s notlivingwith his wife anymore, and he keepstalkingaboutgettingadivorce,’saidHester, pullingforwardthecookededgesoftheomelette sothattheliquidinthecentreranoutintothehot fat.
Nicoadmiredtheopulentcurvesofherbosom andhips,andtheankles,still slenderdespitethe punishingheatoftheevening.
‘You’reaveryattractivegirl,’hesaid,‘totally
wastedonJulian.Whydon’tyoufindsomenice, uncomplicatedchapforachange?’
‘Whydon’tyoupackinAnnabel,andfind yourself somenice,uncomplicatedgirl?’
‘AnnabelisnotinthesameleagueasJulian,’said Nico coldly,‘whoisamanofdeepandfrequent idiocy.’
‘Annabelisafour-starbitch,’snappedHester.
Forasecondtheyglaredateachother,thenNico laughed.‘YouarespeakingofthewomanIlust after. Allright, pax, let’s keepoffthe subject ofboth ofthem.’
‘Allright,’mutteredHester,turningaperfect omeletteontoanemeraldgreenplate.Shebuttered twopiecesofFrenchbread,andputthemoneither side.‘There.Noweatitwhileit’shot.’
‘Notlikelytogetcoldinthisweather,’saidNico. ‘Youareanangel,whatitistofeelcherished.’
Hetooktheplateintothedrawingroom.Hester followedwithsomeBriewhichwasbeginningto slideofftheplate,andabowlofgreengages.
‘Tellmemoreaboutthejob,’saidNico,settling himselfonthesofa.‘You’dbetterwatchit,film crewsgetfrightfullylecherouswhen they’re abroad.’ Hetookanunenthusiasticbiteoftheomelette.
‘Mynewbossisheavilymarried,’explainedHester.
‘JustlikeJulian,’saidNico.ThenseeingtheexpressiononHester’sface,‘Allright,pax,pax.This reallyisa most delicious omelette,perhapsI am hungryafterall.’
Afterhe’dwolfeditdown,andeatenthetwo
slicesofbread,andalargepieceofBrieandfive greengages,he gotouthis cigarette case,and offered onetoHester,whoshookherhead.
‘I’vegivenup.I’maslavetopropaganda.’
‘Nowtellmewhy,’Nicosaid,‘youwereso amorousonthetelephonethisafternoonandwhyit wassovitalthatIcameroundthisevening.’
Hesterscuffedthecarpetwithherfoot.‘I’vegot myselfintoabitofaspot,andyou’retheonly personwhocangetmeoutofit.’
Nicogazedatherthroughahazeofcigarette smoke.‘Thatsoundshorriblyominous.’
Blushing,shetoldhimaboutpretendingtobe engagedinordernottohurtMrPetrie’sfeelings.
Nico grinned. ‘Bloodyidiot, buttypical, I’venever forgottenyoucryingyoureyesoutwhenMichael ranoverthatweaselintheroad.’
‘Butthat’snotall,’shewentonmiserably.‘Mr Petrie’sinsistingongivingafarewellpartyatthe officeformeandmyfictitiousfiancé.’
Nicowhistled.‘Wow–that is tricky.Won’tJulian oblige?’
‘Isaiditwasyou,’saidHesterinasmallvoice.
‘Youwhat!’Itwaslikeaclapofthunder.Even HockneyjumpedoffJulian’stypescript.
‘Icouldn’tthinkofanyoneelse,andnow hewants togivethepartyanydayinthenextfortnight.’
Nicoshookhis head.‘Uh-uh,youjusttell him I’ve beenpostedtotheParisoffice.’
‘Hecaughtmeoffguard,healreadyknowsyou’re here.’
‘Butit’sboundtoleakout.’
‘Itwon’t–nooneintheofficeknowsanyonewho knowsyou.’
‘Everywhere,’saidNico,withatotallackof conceit,‘someoneknowssomeonewhoknows me.’XX
‘Justoneeveningforacoupleofhours,’pleaded Hester,‘forthesakeofourlongandtrouble-free friendship.’
‘No,’saidNico.‘I’dhavetomiss TheArchers –takeHockneyinstead.’
ButHestersensedweakness.‘Oh please.’
‘Well,IwasrathergoodasOrsinointheschool play,’reflectedNico,‘andtheboyplayingOlivia–it wasCharliePaignton-Taylor actually–wasn’tnearly asattractiveasyou,Hes,soIsupposeIshouldn’t findittoohardtoplayaninfatuatedlover.Allright, I’lldoit–justforonenight,then.’
Hestubbedouthiscigarette,andreachedforhis diary.‘NowIknowwhyit’scalledanengagement book.WhataboutWednesdayweek.We’dbetter havelunchthatdaytoosoyoucanbriefme.’
Hesterwentover,andcroucheddownbesidehim. ‘Ican’tthankyouenough.Youarethedearest, dearestpersonintheworld.’
‘MayIgetmyselfanotherdrinkthen?’saidNico. ‘Andthencanwewatch Soap.’
‘Ohyesplease,’saidHester,turningonthetelevision.‘Julianneverletsmewatchit,hethinksit’s toosillyforwords.’
‘NeversendtoknowforwhomtheBellstoll,’said
Nico,pouringtwofingersofwhiskyintohisglass, ‘AnnabelsaysIdrinktoomuch.’
‘Probablydrivesyoutoit,’saidHester.Then seeingthemutinous,bulldogexpressiononhisface, ‘Oh,sorry,paxpax.’
Thetemperaturerocketed,Londonwilted.Hester spentthenexttwelvedaysworkinglateattheoffice tomakesureeverythingwasinorderforwhenshe left.Shetrailedroundtheshopsinherlunchhour lookingforclothesforKenya,andwonderingifshe reallywantedtospendthenextfewmonthsina countrythatwasprobablyfullofsnakes,andtwice ashotasthis.Thenecessaryjabsmadeherfeel awful,and almosttooweaktodragherselfoutinthe eveningtocatchuponoldDarrellFrenchfilms, whichweresoromanticallybitter-sweet,theymade herlongandlongforJulian.Hestillhadn’trung. Shewishedshecouldhaveajabagainsthim. Therestofthetimewasspentworryingfrantically whetherHockneywouldsurvivebeinglookedafter byagirlfriendwhileshewasaway,andevenworse, whetherpoorNicowouldsurvivetheengagement party.
Thewholethingseemedtobesnowballingalarmingly.Notonlydideveryoneintheofficeknow aboutherengagement,andkeepbombardingher withquestions,butalsoalltherepswhocalledon thefirm,andallMrPetrie’snumerousbusiness cronieswhorangup,seemedtohaveheardthe goodnews,andwereanxioustocongratulateher.