‘Yeah,’ Topaz agreed. ‘And it means I’m on my way. I can’t get over what you did for me, getting your dad to make Geoffrey Stevens look at my work. I could wind up working for The Times now.’
‘For The Times?’ asked Rowena, confused. ‘Won’t you go back to New York?’
‘I was planning to, but not any more,’ Topaz said. She stretched luxuriously. ‘Not now I’ve met Peter.’
The car took a right down Cbrnmarket towards the Union. The early evening air was mild nd warm, perfect weather for a ball. The event was sold out, and student politicians from both slates would be there, hacking the crowd for all they were worth. Rowena dragged her mind away from Peter Kennedy. There were more important things at stake.
r
‘
‘James!’ Rowena said. She fought her way through the glittering crowd of bright young things crowding the lobby, dragging Topaz with her. ‘Topaz, you must meet my escort, James Williams. He’s running for Treasurer with
US.’
‘As if I didn’t know,’ Topaz smiled, shaking hands with a gorgeous young second year in army dress uniform. James Williams was a rising star, honest, popular and very good looking. He was also up at Oxford on a military bursary, and even in the left-wing student atmosphere that commanded grudging respect.
‘Delighted,’James said, gripping her hand firmly. ‘Chef well gets better every week. I see you’ve won a fistful of awards.’
‘You certainly know how to charm a reporter,’ Topaz said. ‘And everybody else, I hear.’
‘What’s this, Williams?’ demanded Peter Kennedy, coming up behind them. ‘Chatting up my girlfriend? We can’t allow that, can we?’
James grinned. Peter had been in the year above him at Eton. ‘When are you going to do the decent thing and back ts, Kennedy?’ he demanded.
‘Subtle as an H-bomb,’ Rowena apologized.
Peter just smiled at her, and turned to kiss Topaz’s hand. ‘What a sensational dress.’
You’re nearly wearing, finished Rowena silently. Watching Peter Kennedy eat Topaz alive with his eyes was just too much. She burned with envy and total inadequacy. God, Topaz had curves on her curves, while she was a mere stick insect. And Topaz was probabl;f his fantasy in bed, as well. She was just a frustrated, ignorant little virgin. How could she ever have imagined she could compete with a sassy, gorgeous American? It was politics that interested Peter. Not her.
‘And Rowena,’ he said. ‘Stand back and let me look at
you.’
Rowena took a pace back, aware of a crowd of onlookers watching her, including some of Gilbert’s supporters,
dismayed to see Peter Kennedy getting so friendly with her. She managed a radiant smile.
‘Breathtaking,’ Peter said, after what seemed like an eternity. ‘James, you are a lucky bastard.’
A shiver of delight rippled through her. He almost sounded like he meant it.
‘Come on, babe, they’ve got business to attend to,’ Topaz grinned. And so have we, she thought. Somewhere dark and private.
‘Absolutely,’ said Peter, gently squeezing her hand. He nodded at Rowena. ‘You and I will have to hook up again later, Miss Gordon. I’ve come to a decision.’
‘Come on, Rowena. Let’s get some champagne,’ James said, not wanting to push him.
Topaz was having a good time. The crowd was partying hard, the music was great, the food was plentiful and Peter was with hr. How could she not enjoy herself?. They’d been to the masseur, the video room, the manicurist, the fortuneteller and the handwriting expert, who proclaimed that Peter was trustworthy and confident and that Topaz had a good sense ofhumour.
‘I wonder why they never see anything bad in there,’ Topaz commented afterwards.
‘With you, there’s nothing bad to see,’ Peter said. They’d found a wildly drunk bunch of her compatriots who tried and failed to teach Peter ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’, danced cheek-to’cheek to a chamber music quartet, and roasted marshmallows together in a bonfire lit in the gardens.
‘At least I found one American {ustom you like,’ Topaz teased him.
‘Oh, I like a lot of American things,’ Kennedy replied, letting his right hand slip to the back of her dress.
When he took her in his arms and kissed her by the firelight, she felt pure happiness flood through her. All the time she’d struggled in New Jersey, for attention from her family, for popularity at school, to make something of the
35
only life she had, she’d never dreamed college could be like this. More friends than she could count, English and American. A student paper she ran by herself. A best friend whom she relied on completely. And a boyfriend whom she could easily fall in love with.
‘You mean the world to me,’ she said breathlessly when they stopped kissing.
Peter smoothed her hair, gently. ‘You’re incredible,’ he said.
She’s far more innocent than sh makes out, he thought. He lifted her to her feet. ‘We ought to get back inside,’ he suggested. ‘I have to abandon you for a few minutes. I need to find Rowena. Anyway, I don’t want you catching cold.’ ‘All right,’ Topaz agreed, looking lovingly at him.
Peter didn’t like it. Why did she have to get that devoted shine in her eyes? He wasn’t her father, for Christ’s sake.
Laughing. Smiling. Applauding loudly. Flirting. Joking. Rowena was on automatic pilot. Three hours of this rubbish and she could hardly bear to tell one more overweight postgraduate how stunning she looked in cherry velveteen, but she did it anyway. You had to lead from the front, right? All her female politicos were going through the same thing.
copeR°wenawithdidn’theels.W°rry about the men. They didn’t have to
‘Brought you a margarita,’ Chris Johnson said, shoving through a crowd of freshers to get to her. Chris was her Librarian candidate, a clever, nice, scatty guy with a shock of brown hair that made him look like a young Albert Einstein.
‘You lifesaver,’ she said graefully, taking a refreshing
sip. ‘How’s it going downstairs?’
‘Oh, pretty well,’ he nodded. ‘All our lot are pouring double measures into every drink they serve.’
Rowena grinned. Handing out ridiculously generous measures of drink was a time-honoured way of making yourself popular with the voters.
‘Not my money,’ she and Chris said in unison, and laughed
36
‘You should go up to the masseur,’ she suggested. ‘A
bunch of helpless voters trapped in a queue.’
‘You got it,’ he said.
Rowena finished her drink slowly, glad of the break, and smoothed down the fragile silk of her dress. Amazingly enough she’d managed to prevent it from getting torn in the crush, God knew how. She was fond of this gown, it had been in the family for generations and she’d like to see her daughter wear it to a ball some day. Better than turning up semi-naked like Topaz.
‘Rowena,’ Peter Kennedy said.
She spun round to find him standing at the foot of a pillar draped in gold streamers and ivy leaves, watching her. He was leaning against the wall, casually, his black dinner jacket slightly crumpled from holding Topaz outside.
‘Hello, Peter,’ she said, flushing red. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?.’
He nodde°d absently. ‘I wonder if you could spare me five minutes?’ he asked.
God, how beautiful she is, he thought. Attractive in exactly the opposite way to Topaz. Rowena was so obviously embarrassed, blushing whenever he turned up, trying to get out of coming to see him. He felt the familiar twitch in his thighs. Rowena Gordon was a challenge, much more of a challenge than her best friend. A virgin. And very loyal to Topaz, or so people said.
She was struggling with herself.
She wanted him.
‘Of course,’ Rowena said. She glanced around her at the ballgoers cramming every available inch of space in the main bui!ding. Only one thing for
‘We can go into the Officers’ Offices,’ she suggested, beckoning him to follow her. She turned into what looked like an under-stair cupboard and punched a code into a security lock. The Officers’ Offices, for the Librarian, Treasurer and Secretary, were a little back annexe closed off to the public. It was about the only place that would be private.
37
Peter shut the door behind him and whistled softly. ‘Aft Baba’s cave,’ he said.
Rowena shook her head. ‘Hardly. They don’t even heat it. A few computers, some files and leftover cans of low alcohol beer don’t add up to limitless riches.’
She couldn’t look him in the face. Suddenly, they were out of all the noise and the crush and she was alone with him. Her best friend’s man.
How can you be with Topaz! Rowena thought angrily. You’re so different from her!
‘You said you’d come to a decision,’ she said, as coolly as she could.
‘That’s right,’ Peter agreed. He moved closer to her, and she could smell the faint scent of his cologne. ‘You’ve talked me into it. I can’t actively campaign for you, but I’ll withdraw my support from Gilbert. I’m going to break it to him tomorrow.’
Rowena felt overwhelmed with relief. He’d just handed her the election. Gilbert Docker had a snowball’s chance in hell without Peter Kennedy’s help. He was talentless, elitist and completely disorganized. At the debate on feminism laext week she intended to prove that.
‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ she said, beaming with delight.
Peter took a step towards her. ‘I do,’ he said. He bent forward and kissed her lightly on the lips.
A second later, Rowena pulled back. But it was a second too long. Kennedy had already felt her soft mouth welcoming his embrace, her nipples stiffen against his shirt - he could feel them through her dress - the telltale brightness in the eyes and the shortness of breath. Desire surged through him. Topaz Rossi was a skilled, passionate lover, but Rowena’s timidness and uncertainty was something else. He wanted to have her. To teach her about sex. He’d never taken a girl’s virginity. The thought of it aroused him almost unbearably.
‘What are you doing?’ Rowena hissed. ‘What about Topaz?’
38
He nearly said, ‘What about her?’ but stopped himself in time.
‘I know, I feel so guilty,’ Peter admitted, undressing her with his eyes. Oh, look. She was blushing from head to toe. How sweet. ‘Topaz is a great girl, and I’m fond of her too, but… I can’t help the way I feel about you.’
‘Topaz is my friend,’ Rowena insisted. ‘That’s all there is to it.’
God, she wanted him.
‘We’d never have lasted together,’ Kennedy said smoothly. ‘You know that. She’s American, she wants different things out of life to me. I only realized it once I started seeing you and talking to you. We’re the same, Rowena. We might have a chance together. Let me talk to Topaz and explain things to her.’
‘No, no,’ said Rowena. She felt as though she could hardly breathe. To hear Peter say what she’d been thinking for so long’.., it was killing her. ‘Just leave me alone. I can’t talk to you again,’ and she wrenched open the door and
ran out, her eyes brimming with tears. Peter Kennedy watched her go. Not long now, he thought.
39
The air in the chamber was thick With tension.
Rowena sat on the opposition benches, her beautiful face frozen in stone. She appeared to be listening gravely to Gilbert Docker’s bumbling, inept attempt at proposing the motion.
At the moment, he was making jokes about male executives having their innocent, appreciative comments towards female juniors totally misconstrued by dykey feminists. It wasn’t going down too badly, on the face of it; a crowd of drunk, upper-class rugby players and Oriel boaties had turned up and were cheering every sexist innuendo to the rafters. Gilbert’s normally squeaky voice Was climbing higher and higher with pleasure, and his face had gone red and sweaty from the heat; he was annoying everyone else, Rowena noticed.
She put a delicate hand to her temple, trying to make the sick, dizzy feeling go away. Why me? she thought. Why now?
Chris Johnson, who as top of standing committee was sitting in the Secretary’s chair while Gilbert spoke, glanced across at his slate boss. He was ;˘ery worried. The chamber was packed solid with students, cramming the benches, squeezed up on the floor, thronging the gallery upstairs. It was Wednesday; the election would be on Friday week. Presidential Debates and officer hustings were usually held on the night before the election, but Crown Princess Victoria of Sweden was due to speak that day, so tonight’s showdown had been brought forward. The unusual timing made the debate even more crucial for their slate.; Oxford
4o
ould have more than a week to reflect on this evening’s performances.
And Rowena Gordon was a star. A brilliant speaker. She could wipe the floor with Gilbert Docker, ninety-nine times out of a hundred. Indeed, a large chunk of the crowd had turned up specifically to see a bloodbath.
Oh, there’ll be a bloodbath, OK, Chris thought grimly. But it might not be Gilbert’s blood.
Rowena looked stunning. No problems there. She was wearing a strapless ballgown of crushed red velvet, a Balenciaga original of her mother’s which emphasized her perfect small breasts and tiny waist, and then cascaded to the floor in sumptuous raspberry folds. The richness of the colour picked out her shimmering hair, and her ice-mint eyes were sharp and glittering.
Glittering far too brightly, Chris thought. The girls who were looking at her enviously and the guys who were sizing her up hadn’t seen her like he had this morning, her hair slick with perspiration, her skin pale and shining with sweat. They’d called the doctor: Rowena Gordon, on the morning of her Presidential Debate, had a temperature of IO3 and was immediately confined to bed. Chris, as her friend, had tried to talk her out of it, but as soon as the doctor had left, she got up, staggered over to her sink and swallowed ten Nurofen.
‘It’s not worth it, for Christ’s sake,’ Chris had said, aghast. ‘You’ll kill yourself.’
Rowena, shivering with fever, looked at him.
‘No I won’t,’ she said levelly. I’ll kill Gilbert.’
In the gallery, Peter Kennedy was watching Rowena intently.