Romily clicked the lid back on to her Touche Eclat. ‘Let’s put it away. I don’t want you to waste it.’
Allegra got up and wandered about the cubie, picking up anything that interested her. ‘What I don’t understand, Romily, is how you can go on about looking after your bloody skin the entire time, and then smoke cigarettes.’
Romily shrugged. ‘My vitamins counteract the effects of the smoke. Besides, it will be years before I need to worry about that. I’m going to give up before then.’
The other two nodded. They had agreed that they would give up smoking before they turned twenty-one, and that way they would avoid any nastiness associated with their favourite vice. Twenty-one was so far away that they hardly needed to think about it.
‘What does your mother say?’ Imogen asked. Romily had regaled them so often with tales of what her mother proscribed that they all thought of her as a kind of oracle on beauty and behaviour.
‘She says it’s acceptable to smoke in certain situations. No lady would ever smoke on the street, for example. But after dinner … of course. My mother smokes one filterless Gitane every day at eleven o’clock with a very strong black coffee, and one after dinner with a
digestif
.’ Romily was proud of her beautiful, stylish mother. It was her ambition to be as graceful and decorative as she was.
‘Do you think we’ll ever be grown up?’ Allegra sighed, leaning against the chest of drawers.
‘Imagine being married!’ Imogen said. There was a quiet moment as they all contemplated this; it seemed an extraordinary idea. ‘At least you’ve both been kissed,’ she added. ‘I haven’t even had that.’
Apart from a little casual experimentation with her cousin one summer holiday, Romily’s experiences of sex were confined to being kissed very passionately after a ballroom dancing lesson in Paris by a handsome young count, her partner that day. It had been extremely enjoyable, and she fully intended to repeat it as soon as she could. Her plan was also to be seduced, preferably before she’d left school, so she could go out into the world unencumbered by her tiresome virginity; she was very curious to know what all the fuss was about, and, if her first forays were anything to go by, sex ought to be delightful.
Allegra had told them all how she’d managed to have a snog with the gardener’s son one afternoon at Foughton Castle and another at a Christmas party.
‘You will,’ Allegra said stoutly. ‘We’ll make it our mission this summer to get Midge a snog. I want to get to Glastonbury this year, we should all go together, it’d be really cool.’
‘That sounds great,’ Imogen said eagerly. ‘We can camp! Oh, wow.’
‘I’d never be allowed,’ Romily said sadly. ‘Never, never, never. But maybe you could both come and see me.’
‘Come to Paris?’ Imogen looked excited. ‘I’ve never been there.’
‘I want to go to the Greek island,’ Allegra declared. ‘That sounds amazing.’
‘But I don’t know how likely you are to get a snog on our island, Midge, unless you like old fishermen.’
Imogen wrinkled her nose. ‘No. I was thinking of someone a bit younger. Maybe eighteen or something.’
The lunch bell rang out over the school.
Allegra looked at her watch. ‘About time too. But I’ve heard it’s disgusting chicken fricassée for lunch. God, I
hate
this place!’ Then she leaned towards the other two conspiratorially and said, ‘MG meeting tonight. Are we all on for it?’
The other two nodded as they jumped up and hurried to stay ahead of the mad scramble to the refectory.
When they got up to the attic that night, Romily could tell that Allegra was in a rage.
‘That’s it!’ she said in a furious whisper, blowing a plume of smoke out of the open window. ‘I’ve had it up to here with that utter
bitch
.’
Romily glanced at Imogen. She knew they were both thinking the same thing.
Trouble
.
‘Did you see her? Did you?’
Allegra got up and wandered about the cubie, picking up anything that interested her. ‘What I don’t understand, Romily, is how you can go on about looking after your bloody skin the entire time, and then smoke cigarettes.’
Romily shrugged. ‘My vitamins counteract the effects of the smoke. Besides, it will be years before I need to worry about that. I’m going to give up before then.’
The other two nodded. They had agreed that they would give up smoking before they turned twenty-one, and that way they would avoid any nastiness associated with their favourite vice. Twenty-one was so far away that they hardly needed to think about it.
‘What does your mother say?’ Imogen asked. Romily had regaled them so often with tales of what her mother proscribed that they all thought of her as a kind of oracle on beauty and behaviour.
‘She says it’s acceptable to smoke in certain situations. No lady would ever smoke on the street, for example. But after dinner … of course. My mother smokes one filterless Gitane every day at eleven o’clock with a very strong black coffee, and one after dinner with a
digestif
.’ Romily was proud of her beautiful, stylish mother. It was her ambition to be as graceful and decorative as she was.
‘Do you think we’ll ever be grown up?’ Allegra sighed, leaning against the chest of drawers.
‘Imagine being married!’ Imogen said. There was a quiet moment as they all contemplated this; it seemed an extraordinary idea. ‘At least you’ve both been kissed,’ she added. ‘I haven’t even had that.’
Apart from a little casual experimentation with her cousin one summer holiday, Romily’s experiences of sex were confined to being kissed very passionately after a ballroom dancing lesson in Paris by a handsome young count, her partner that day. It had been extremely enjoyable, and she fully intended to repeat it as soon as she could. Her plan was also to be seduced, preferably before she’d left school, so she could go out into the world unencumbered by her tiresome virginity; she was very curious to know what all the fuss was about, and, if her first forays were anything to go by, sex ought to be delightful.
Allegra had told them all how she’d managed to have a snog with the gardener’s son one afternoon at Foughton Castle and another at a Christmas party.
‘You will,’ Allegra said stoutly. ‘We’ll make it our mission this summer to get Midge a snog. I want to get to Glastonbury this year, we should all go together, it’d be really cool.’
‘That sounds great,’ Imogen said eagerly. ‘We can camp! Oh, wow.’
‘I’d never be allowed,’ Romily said sadly. ‘Never, never, never. But maybe you could both come and see me.’
‘Come to Paris?’ Imogen looked excited. ‘I’ve never been there.’
‘I want to go to the Greek island,’ Allegra declared. ‘That sounds amazing.’
‘But I don’t know how likely you are to get a snog on our island, Midge, unless you like old fishermen.’
Imogen wrinkled her nose. ‘No. I was thinking of someone a bit younger. Maybe eighteen or something.’
The lunch bell rang out over the school.
Allegra looked at her watch. ‘About time too. But I’ve heard it’s disgusting chicken fricassée for lunch. God, I
hate
this place!’ Then she leaned towards the other two conspiratorially and said, ‘MG meeting tonight. Are we all on for it?’
The other two nodded as they jumped up and hurried to stay ahead of the mad scramble to the refectory.
When they got up to the attic that night, Romily could tell that Allegra was in a rage.
‘That’s it!’ she said in a furious whisper, blowing a plume of smoke out of the open window. ‘I’ve had it up to here with that utter
bitch
.’
Romily glanced at Imogen. She knew they were both thinking the same thing.
Trouble
.
‘Did you see her? Did you?’