Read Online Bed of Roses by Daisy Waugh - Free Book Online Page B

and both in Fanny’s class, although a year apart. They loathe each other.
    ‘But I get the impression the chap ,’ says Geraldine, keen to stick to the sujet du moment , ‘that incredibly handsome American who whisked her away at the end—’
    ‘Louis,’ Kitty prompts impatiently. ‘He’s called Louis, Geraldine.’
    ‘Louis – he’s not actually her boyfriend.’
    ‘She must be mad. Why ever not?’
    ‘They didn’t embrace when they arrived, did they? They hugged in a sort of non-boyfriendy way, don’t you think?…Plus, Dawn was behind the bar at the pub on Friday night,’ Geraldine adds. (Dawn is Geraldine’s daily.) ‘She was watching them very closely. After all, she’s got Derek at the school, hasn’t she? Is he called Derek? I can’t remember. Skinny boy. In Ollie’s class. Ollie and Scarlett’s class, excuse me.’
    Kitty has no idea. Nor any interest. ‘And the pub would have been empty, I suppose. With everyone being at the limbo. So she’d have got a good look…’
    ‘ Dawn says Miss Flynn was knocking back pints of Guinness. With whisky mac chasers. Guinness and whisky mac chasers!’
    ‘Yes. And were they canoodling?’
    ‘She said not . She said definitely just talking. But Miss Flynn was crying her heart out at one point. She must have been quite upset.’
    ‘Christ,’ bursts out Kitty suddenly. ‘You don’t suppose he’s gay, do you? What a waste! ’
    Kitty adores young men.
    As might be expected, given her frolicsome lifestyle, Kitty has aged a good deal less elegantly than her rich, selfdisciplined friend, Geraldine. Kitty’s long straight hair has been dyed so often it’s devoid of any colour at all any more, and she’s put on stones since the early days, when she and Geraldine were at Oxford together, and she, Kitty, was meantto be the sexy one; the doe-eyed Brigitte Bardot lookalike who was going to set the world on fire…
    She still has the doe eyes, except nowadays they’re watchful and puffy from alcohol. She’s broke. Lonely. Lazy. She drinks like a fish. But she still has a certain blowsy allure. She dresses in white, always; wafts around in a cloud of musky scent and French tobacco, and when she flirts, which she does continually, she flirts with true and reckless intent. She’s good company but a dangerous friend. Fortunately for Geraldine, her soft-speaking, cerebral husband Clive has never appealed to Kitty – and nor (though Kitty might not believe it) has she ever greatly appealed to him.
    In any case, Kitty’s action-packed sex life has always been a source of irritation for Geraldine. It’s one area where Geraldine has always felt outdone. Especially since she’s been married. She and Clive happen to have a strongish marriage (Kitty, on the other hand, has never maintained a relationship for longer than a few months). Clive and Geraldine work together, plan together, agree with each other on most things they consider to be important. They quite like each other. But they don’t have much sex. ‘Gay or not, my love,’ Geraldine says, annoyingly brightly, ‘young Louis is probably just a tad – too – young – for you, don’t you think?’
    Kitty chortles. ‘I doubt that very much.’
    ‘Either way, you’ll probably never lay eyes on him again.’
    ‘Ah-ha!’ Kitty rolls over on to her belly, rests her chin in her hand. ‘Top Secret gossip: Mrs Hooper says he was asking at the post office about places to rent! Apparently, Ms Flynn isn’t allowed to know. But we are. He’s a photographer, Mrs Hooper says. From Louisiana. Of course one can tell. He’s got that innate masterfulness about him, hasn’t he? From all that slave owning, I imagine. They all have it. In the Southern States…I can never resist a Southern boy, can you?’ Kittysays ‘Southern’ with a silly Southern accent, and doesn’t wait for Geraldine to reply. ‘Anyway, Mrs Hooper says he works freelance for some of the London newspapers. She says he’s looking for