Octavia

Chapter Seven

The crimson sun was sinking, the pink water darkening as we tied up for the night alongside a bank of meadowsweet. The air throbbed with the formless chattering of birds, and all along the bank water rats and owls began to come out on night duty. I managed to postpone cooking by saying the chicken would take too long to make.

I put on a pale grey semi-transparent mini-dress. I didn’t need the cracked looking glass to tell me how marvellous I looked. Gussie was looking hideous in white. She was scarlet from the sun.

‘She looks like a great red lobster,’ I thought with a giggle. ‘All she needs is a dollop of mayonnaise.’

Gareth handed me a Pimm’s. It was afloat with apple, cucumber and oranges.

‘Is this dinner as well?’ I asked coolly.

‘It’s utterly divine,’ said Gussie. ‘Try it.’

I took a sip and smirked at Gareth. ‘It tastes exactly like cough mixture,’ I said.

Jeremy, sitting at the table shelling broad beans, looked fantastic. His skin was tanned to the colour of dry sherry; he was wearing a white shirt. I surreptitiously lowered the zip of my dress a few inches, then caught Gareth looking at me and pretended I was fanning myself because of the heat.

‘Jeremy darling,’ cooed Gussie fondly, ‘you’re putting all the pods in the pan and the beans in the muckbucket. You are abstracted today.’

‘His mind’s on other things,’ said Gareth.

‘Like this bloody review I’ve got to write for the Statesman,’ said Jeremy. ‘I’ve got to file copy on Tuesday. I simply can’t get beyond the first chapter.’

‘Well say so, then,’ said Gareth.

‘I can’t,’ said Jeremy. ‘It was written by the editor’s wife.’

‘That’s a gorgeous dress,’ said Gussie, looking at me enviously. ‘I’d love something really sexy like that.’

‘You’ve got Jeremy,’ I said, smiling at him.

‘Yes, and don’t let any of us forget it,’ said Gareth.

‘Broad beans are disappointing,’ grumbled Gussie, raking her thumb nail down the furry inside of the last pod. ‘They always look as though they’re going to produce far more than they do.’

‘Like someone else I could mention,’ muttered Gareth as he filled up my glass.

A smell of mint drifted in from the kitchen.

‘I’m starving,’ said Gussie.

For dinner Gareth fried some huge prawns in garlic and parsley and we ate them with broad beans and new potatoes.

‘Our new house has a little garden,’ said Gussie with her mouth full. ‘Just think Jeremy darling, we’ll be able to grow our own vegetables. You’re a fairy godmother, Gareth, finding us this house.’

‘I’m neither a fairy nor a godmother,’ said Gareth, forking a large new potato out of the dish and putting it straight into his mouth.

‘These prawns are fantastic,’ said Jeremy. ‘Have some more, Octavia.’

‘No thanks,’ I said. ‘I’m surprised to see Gareth cooking at all. With your pithead upbringing I’d have thought you’d have been dead against men in the kitchen.’

There was a slightly embarrassed pause.

‘My father spent his time in the kitchen when he was home,’ said Gareth. ‘It was the only room we had downstairs.’

‘How amazing,’ I said, my lips curling. ‘Did you all sleep in the same bed?’

‘I liked your father,’ said Jeremy hastily.

‘So did my mother,’ said Gareth. ‘If you’re a miner you’re a real man — and women like that.’

Gussie sensed that I was about to make some crushing remark.

‘Whatever happened to your glamorous brother?’ she said. ‘I remember him coming down to take you out at school and watching a lacrosse match, and no one scoring any goals at all. They were far too busy gawping at him.’

‘He went into the family business,’ I said. ‘But he hates it. He’s export sales manager now and has to spend his time swapping filthy stories with reps.’

‘Who did he get married to?’ said Gussie.

‘Ricky Seaford’s daughter, Pamela.’

‘That was a good dynastic match,’ said Gareth. ‘Aren’t Seaford-Brennen’s in a bit of trouble at the moment?’

‘Of course not,’ I said, scathingly. ‘They’ve had a terrific year.’ I always say that.

‘Oh well, you should know,’ said Gareth. ‘I just heard rumours of strike trouble.’

‘All firms have to cope with strikes from time to time.’

‘I don’t,’ said Gareth, grinning. ‘My men know they’ve got the best boss in the world, so why should they strike?’

‘Modesty certainly isn’t your strong point,’ I snapped.

‘Of course it isn’t. I’m much better at being immodest.’

God, he irritated me. I wanted to throw my drink in his face. Gussie went off to bring in some strawberries and cream, so I stretched out my foot towards Jeremy and started rubbing it against his leg. The pressure was immediately returned. And when Gareth started quizzing him about publishing, he obviously had great difficulty in concentrating.

‘These are the first strawberries of the year, so you must all make a wish,’ said Gussie, doling out great platefuls.

I wriggled down a bit further under the table, and ran my leg up and down Jeremy’s thigh. The next moment I could feel his hand stroking my foot, gently caressing the instep. It felt fantastically sexy. I wiggled my toes against his hand voluptuously.

‘Did you know that buggery was legal after 90 days on board?’ said Gareth. ‘So we’ve only got 89 days to go, boyo.’

‘Oh darling,’ sighed Jeremy, ‘I never knew you felt that way.’

That warm hand was still stroking my ankle. Then suddenly I looked across the table, and froze with horror as I realized that Jeremy was squashing up his strawberries with both hands. Before I could whip my foot away, the hand had closed round my ankle like a vice.

‘What big feet you’ve got Grandma,’ said Gareth, his eyes glinting with laughter. I tugged frantically for several seconds before he let me go.

After dinner he turned on the television. It was an old film, Carmen Jones.

‘You go for me, and I’m taboo,’ sang Dorothy Dandridge, shaking her hips, ‘But if you’re hard to get I go for you. . and if I do, I’ll tell you baby, that’s the end of you.’

‘Oh, turn it off, I’ve seen it twice already,’ said Gussie.

We took our drinks out on deck. The trees on the edge of the river were as dark as blackberries. A little owl swooped by noisily. A slight breeze wafted the strong soapy scent of the meadowsweet towards us. In the distance we could hear the sensual throb of pop music, and see the dark sky florid like a great bruise.

‘It’s a fair,’ said Gussie in excitement. ‘Oh, please let’s go.’

The red and yellow helter-skelter rose like a fairy tower out of the pale green chestnut trees, the lights of the big wheel turned like a giant firework. I listened to the beat of the music, the roar of the generators and the thwack of balls on the canvas at the back of the coconut shies. I’m always turned on by fairs.

Gareth had just loosened every tooth in my head, driving like James Hunt round the dodgem car track. My only consolation was that Jeremy and Gussie, now clutching a Gary Glitter poster, a china Alsatian and a huge mauve teddy bear, had been watching our progress. Next to them had stood a group of youths who had wolf-whistled and whooped in admiration every time we crashed past them, as my hair whipped back and my skirt blew up to reveal an expanse of brown thigh. This was the kind of corporate approval that wouldn’t do Jeremy any harm. Now Gareth was wasting a fortune at the shooting range, and Jeremy and I stood side by side watching Gussie riding on a merry-go-round horse with red nostrils. Grasping the brass rod with both hands, her handbag flying on her arm, her eyes shining, she smiled at us every time she came past. We smiled dutifully back.

The sensual beat of the music was eating into my soul. It was now or never. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the big wheel pause to take on more passengers. Gussie’s merry-go-round would stop in a minute.

‘Let’s go on the big wheel,’ I said to Jeremy.

‘Won’t you be scared?’

‘Not with you.’

‘We must be careful. Gussie’ll start suspecting something.’

‘I want her to,’ I said.

With almost indecent haste, we slid into the bucket seats. At that moment Gussie clambered off her horse and looked round.

‘Over here,’ shouted Jeremy.

She looked up and grinned. ‘Take care,’ she shouted.

Up and up went the wheel. At the top we could see for miles. The moon had broken free from its moorings and was sailing up in the sky. Below us lay lit-up villages, dark woods, pale hayfields, and to the right, the distant gleam of the river.

‘Oh isn’t it beautiful?’ I said, moving my leg against his.

‘Beautiful,’ he said, not looking at the view.

Then down we plunged with that dreadful stomach-stealing, heart-dropping fall. Screaming like a peacock, I clutched Jeremy’s arm.

‘Are you all right?’ he said, as we swooped upwards again.

Then suddenly, fate came to our rescue. The wheel stopped to drop off some passengers, leaving us at the top, miles from everyone.

For a second we gazed at each other.

‘What are you so frightened of?’ I said softly. ‘Gareth’s disapproval or hurting Gussie?’

‘Both. Gus doesn’t deserve to be hurt, and I feel guilty bringing Gareth down here, laying on a bird for him, then trying to lay on her myself.’

‘You’d be insane with rage if I’d got off with Gareth.’

‘I know I would.’

‘Well then, is it fair to Gussie to marry her when you feel like this?’

‘I think I’m more frightened of you than anything else,’ he muttered. ‘Like Carmen Jones on the box tonight, I’d be like that poor sod Don José. Once you got me away from Gussie you’d get bored with me. Then I’d find myself totally hooked on you, and not capable of holding you.’

‘Oh darling,’ I said, putting a little sob in my voice, ‘don’t you realize, I’m only playing the field because I’m unhappy? When I find the right guy, I’m quite capable of sticking to him. I was never unfaithful to Tod.’

‘Not at all?’

‘Not at all. You’ve got to learn to trust me.’

Jeremy looked up at the sky.

‘I could reach up and pick you a bunch of stars,’ he said. ‘I wish we could stay up here forever and never go back to reality.’

The wheel started moving again.

‘We’ve got to talk,’ I whispered. ‘Wait till Gussie’s asleep and then creep up on deck.’

‘It’s too risky. Gareth’s got a nose on elastic.’

‘He’s drunk so much this evening, he’ll go out like a light.’

‘Anyone want a drink?’ said Gareth when we got back to the boat.

‘I’m going to hit the hay,’ said Jeremy. ‘I’ve got a bloody awful headache from the sun.’

‘I’ve got some painkillers in my suitcase,’ said Gareth. ‘I’ll get them.’

He went out of the room. Gussie was rootling around in the kitchen. I moved towards Jeremy.

‘Have you really got a headache?’ I said.

He smiled slightly and shook his head: ‘I ache in rather more basic parts of my anatomy.’

‘Painkillers won’t cure that,’ I said softly. ‘The only remedy is to come up on deck later.’

‘How long shall I leave it?’

‘Well I certainly can’t hold out for more than an hour,’ I said, running my tongue over my lips.

At that moment Gareth returned with the pills.

‘I really don’t like taking things,’ said Jeremy.

‘You take three,’ said Gareth firmly. ‘That should do the trick.’

I’d have given anything to have a long scented bath. As it was, I stood barefoot on the rushmatting, soaping my body, and then dried myself with an old towel, the consistency of a brillo pad. I didn’t even dare scent my body with bath oil, in case Gareth thought I was giving him the come on. But luckily when I went back to the cabin, he was already in bed, snoring away like Tommy Brock. I waited half an hour, then very slowly eased myself out of bed, groping for the wall and then the doorway. I had my alibi ready — I was just getting a drink of water — but I didn’t need it. Gareth didn’t stir. I tiptoed out of the cabin and up onto the deck.

The sullen heat of the torrid afternoon had given way to a blissful cool. Through the overhanging willows, the stars shone like blossom. I lay stretched out on the deck, listening to the soft gurgling of the river, the drowsy piping of birds, and the chatter and rustlings as the animals of night plied their trades. Half an hour passed in blissful expectation, then another half-hour when I knew he’d be here any minute.

What was that poem that always made us giggle at school?

He is coming, my dove, my dear:

He is coming, my life, my fate;

The red rose cries, ‘He is near, he is near’; And the white rose weeps, ‘He is late.’

Well it seemed the white rose had got the message all right. Another hour limped by, by which time the deck was harder than a board, and fire was beginning to come out of my nostrils. It was obvious I was going to get no chance to play deck coitus. Anger gave way to misery and exhaustion, and I crept back to bed.