hand lovingly over Rupert’s. ‘I agree,’ she said, looking straight at Lazlo. ‘And as soon as possible too. I’ve suddenly gone off long engagements.’
The reception was a nightmare. It was held in three huge marquees in the Henriques’ garden and Bella had never felt more lonely or out of things in her life.
There was a strange assortment of people there. Teddy’s grand, dowdy relations in their silk shirt-waisters and pull-on felts were almost indistinguishable from Constance’s fellow committee workers, who included several Chief Guiders in uniform, who brayed to one another and drank orange juice. In one corner, two bus-loads of tenants from Teddy’s father’s estate sat with their legs apart, looking embarrassed. But by far the largest group of people there, Bella suspected, were Charles’s and Lazlo’s friends, members of the international set at their richest and most international. Even though some of them had turned up in jeans, they had that kind of bland self-assurance, the gilt-edged security that enabled them to be accepted anywhere. Everywhere you looked ravishingly pretty women had emerged from their winter furs like butterflies and stood jamming cigarettes into their scarlet lips, knocking back champagne, refusing asparagus rolls and smoked salmon for the sake of their figures, and chattering wittily to the suave handsome, expensive-looking men who surrounded them. Bella had never seen so many people who seemed to know each other, or, even if they didn’t, would discover a host of friends they had in common.
Rupert did his best to look after her, but he was constantly being grabbed by Constance or Charles, or particularly by Lazlo, to go and look after someone else, or see to something.
She tried to scintillate and be amusing, but because she was nervous and unsure of herself, her voice came out far more artificial and affected than it would normally. Putting up a front to cover up her desperate insecurity, she knew she was appearing phoney and as hard as nails. Rupert kept introducing her into a group of people, but it was like feeding a screw into the Hoover. Five minutes later they’d spew her out again.
God, they were noisy too. Half the conversations were being carried on in foreign languages, full of laughter and exclamation marks, like the talking bits in Fidelio .
She couldn’t even get drunk because she had a performance that evening. In her misery, she ate five éclairs, then felt sick.
Suddenly, as though someone had stamped a branding iron on her back, she was aware of Chrissie standing behind her, her eyes glittering with misery and loathing.
‘Pink really suits you,’ Bella said nervously. ‘And you’ve lost so much weight! You really look ravishing.’
‘But not quite ravishing enough,’ snapped Chrissie, and, turning on her heel, she disappeared into the crowd. Even talking to Uncle Willy would have been preferable to standing by herself, but he was hemmed in by some aunts in a corner.
Where on earth were Steve and Angora, Bella wondered. It was almost impossible to find them in this crowd.
She couldn’t stay leaning against a pillar for ever – like a small boat launching itself on a rough sea, she began fighting her way across the marquee again – and, suddenly, there like something on the big screen, was Angora, wearing a navy blue straw hat which framed her cloudy dark hair and a parma violet suit, which emphasized her huge, purply-blue eyes.
She was surrounded by men, but lounging by her side was Steve in a grey morning suit, cracking jokes, deflecting any competition, very much master of the situation. Admire her, but keep your distance, he seemed to be saying. They made a sensational pair.
Angora was laughing at something he said, throwing back her head to show her lovely white throat when, in mid-laugh, suddenly she saw Bella.
‘Belladonna! Come here – at once.’
As there was nowhere else to go, Bella went up to them.
‘Darling, you’ve
The reception was a nightmare. It was held in three huge marquees in the Henriques’ garden and Bella had never felt more lonely or out of things in her life.
There was a strange assortment of people there. Teddy’s grand, dowdy relations in their silk shirt-waisters and pull-on felts were almost indistinguishable from Constance’s fellow committee workers, who included several Chief Guiders in uniform, who brayed to one another and drank orange juice. In one corner, two bus-loads of tenants from Teddy’s father’s estate sat with their legs apart, looking embarrassed. But by far the largest group of people there, Bella suspected, were Charles’s and Lazlo’s friends, members of the international set at their richest and most international. Even though some of them had turned up in jeans, they had that kind of bland self-assurance, the gilt-edged security that enabled them to be accepted anywhere. Everywhere you looked ravishingly pretty women had emerged from their winter furs like butterflies and stood jamming cigarettes into their scarlet lips, knocking back champagne, refusing asparagus rolls and smoked salmon for the sake of their figures, and chattering wittily to the suave handsome, expensive-looking men who surrounded them. Bella had never seen so many people who seemed to know each other, or, even if they didn’t, would discover a host of friends they had in common.
Rupert did his best to look after her, but he was constantly being grabbed by Constance or Charles, or particularly by Lazlo, to go and look after someone else, or see to something.
She tried to scintillate and be amusing, but because she was nervous and unsure of herself, her voice came out far more artificial and affected than it would normally. Putting up a front to cover up her desperate insecurity, she knew she was appearing phoney and as hard as nails. Rupert kept introducing her into a group of people, but it was like feeding a screw into the Hoover. Five minutes later they’d spew her out again.
God, they were noisy too. Half the conversations were being carried on in foreign languages, full of laughter and exclamation marks, like the talking bits in Fidelio .
She couldn’t even get drunk because she had a performance that evening. In her misery, she ate five éclairs, then felt sick.
Suddenly, as though someone had stamped a branding iron on her back, she was aware of Chrissie standing behind her, her eyes glittering with misery and loathing.
‘Pink really suits you,’ Bella said nervously. ‘And you’ve lost so much weight! You really look ravishing.’
‘But not quite ravishing enough,’ snapped Chrissie, and, turning on her heel, she disappeared into the crowd. Even talking to Uncle Willy would have been preferable to standing by herself, but he was hemmed in by some aunts in a corner.
Where on earth were Steve and Angora, Bella wondered. It was almost impossible to find them in this crowd.
She couldn’t stay leaning against a pillar for ever – like a small boat launching itself on a rough sea, she began fighting her way across the marquee again – and, suddenly, there like something on the big screen, was Angora, wearing a navy blue straw hat which framed her cloudy dark hair and a parma violet suit, which emphasized her huge, purply-blue eyes.
She was surrounded by men, but lounging by her side was Steve in a grey morning suit, cracking jokes, deflecting any competition, very much master of the situation. Admire her, but keep your distance, he seemed to be saying. They made a sensational pair.
Angora was laughing at something he said, throwing back her head to show her lovely white throat when, in mid-laugh, suddenly she saw Bella.
‘Belladonna! Come here – at once.’
As there was nowhere else to go, Bella went up to them.
‘Darling, you’ve
Similar Books
