Authors: T A Williams
Tiffany was the first to get the news. She read the e-mail and then read it again. She suppressed a squeal of delight. Not only had she got the job, but she and Luca were going away for an all expenses paid weekend in a country house hotel. She made two telephone calls.
The first call was to her mother.
‘Mum, I’ve been offered a job. A writing job.’
‘Oh, that’s good, dear. What sort of thing is it?’
‘A historical novel. It’s a collaborative effort: me and half a dozen other people.’
‘I’m so happy for you, dear. Your father would have been so proud.’
‘Mum, I have to go for a weekend meeting to sort out all the details. Would you be able to come and look after the kids for two nights?’
‘Of course I would, darling. When?’
Tiffany took a deep breath. ‘A week tomorrow. I’m sorry it’s such short notice. If it’s no good for you, I’m sure we can arrange something.’
‘Nonsense. Of course I can come.’
The second phone call was to Luca. He was delighted at her news. He came home that evening with a bottle of champagne.
‘So what happens next weekend?’
‘Mum’s agreed to come and look after the kids. Good, eh?’
She showed him the e-mail.
Dear Tiffany,
I am contacting you by e-mail as time is tight.
I was very impressed by your specimen piece. In view of the exceptionally high standard of writing from all six applicants for the position, I have taken the decision to make this a collaborative effort. Each of you will be asked to write between ten and twenty thousand words. It will be my task to pull it all together into a coherent unit. We will decide together on characters, plot and action.
The book will be set in the 1920s. The events will take place over a weekend house party. The participants will be predominantly upper class; the famously amoral Bright Young Things.
In order to get to know each other and to finalise the different strands of the story, I should like to invite you to a weekend meeting at a country house hotel. This will serve as the location for the book. In order not to waste time, the meeting has been arranged for next weekend, 2-4 March. I apologise for the short notice, but feel that the project will stand more chance of success if we waste no time. Details of timings and location are at the bottom of this letter. Accommodation and all meals, including drinks, for you and a partner or friend, will be completely free of charge.
As a further attempt to recreate the atmosphere of that period, I would like to propose that the Saturday evening dinner be in 1920s dress. How far you choose to go in search of authentic costume, I leave up to you.
I hope you are as excited as I am at this project. I look forward to meeting you all next weekend.
Tom
Thomas Marshall
PS I would be grateful to have your speedy reply. Please indicate if you will be alone or accompanied and if you prefer a double or twin beds.
‘He sounds like an organised chap.’ Luca was impressed. ‘And he’s prepared to put his money where his mouth is. Six couples for a weekend, all expenses paid, will cost him a few grand.’
‘Yes, it sounds like he has faith in the project.’ The more she thought about it, the better it looked.
‘What about the dressing up business? Have you thought about that?’
‘That sounds like fun. And a good idea for the book as well. Nothing like trying on a ninety-year-old corset for getting into the spirit of the age.’ She was laughing. He caught her arm and pulled her close, so the kids wouldn’t hear.
‘Or tearing it off! Erotic literature has certainly come as a very pleasant surprise. And the book isn’t even written yet. We’ll have to keep on with the research.’
She put an arm round his neck and kissed him.
‘I was hoping you’d say that.’
The letter arrived on Saturday morning. Jimmy was first down the stairs. From the screaming and moaning in Clint’s room from midnight until four in the morning, he had either got a bear in there with him, or he had got lucky again. Jimmy had decided overnight that, if things didn’t improve, he was going to have to move out. There is a limit to what flatmates should be expected to tolerate.
He took the letter into the kitchen and put the coffee on. He opened the envelope and read its contents. His first reaction was surprise, coupled with delight that he had been chosen. This was immediately followed by the bitter disappointment that the game was up: There was no way he could go to the meeting in Dorset. Not without a sex change, anyway.
He heard the toilet flush upstairs. Seconds later there were footsteps on the stairs. He pushed another cup under the spout and pressed the green button.
‘Morning, Jimmy. How’s it hanging?’ Clinton looked bushed.
‘Not as well as you, by the sounds of things last night. Who’ve you got up there?’
‘Dolores.’
‘Dolores? I thought you said she was past her sell-by date.’
‘Keep your voice down, Jimbo. She’s awake.’
‘So you two have got back together, then?’
‘That’s the way it is.’
‘And you’ve forgiven her for leaving you trussed up like a chicken?’ He added sugar and pushed the cup across the table. He saw Clinton looking at him in a very funny way. ‘What’s up, Clint?’
‘Can you keep your mouth shut?’
‘Better than Dolores last night, from the screams and shouts I kept hearing.’
‘That wasn’t Dolores.’
‘Not Dolores?’ It was too early in the morning for conundrums. ‘So who else have you got up there? Or what else?’
‘Listen Jimmy, I’m telling you this is private, totally private. You got that?’
‘Sure, Clint. No need to get so intense.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m not trying to get heavy. It’s just that I owe you an apology.’
‘You owe me an apology?’
‘That’s right. I’m very sorry.’
‘Sorry for what, Clint?’
‘For keeping you awake last night.’
‘It was you keeping me awake?’ Jimmy’s voice couldn’t hide his incredulity. ‘You mean it was you making all the noise?’
‘‘Fraid so.’ He was looking sheepish, very sheepish. ‘You see, Dolores and I have sort of got a thing going on.’
‘What kind of thing?’
‘A role-play thing. You see–’ he hesitated, unsure how to continue. He was saved further explanation by the unmistakable sound of high heels coming down the stairs. ‘Shtum, Jimbo. Got it?’ He held his finger to his mouth. Jimmy saw that it was trembling.
Jimmy got the shock of his life as Dolores walked into the kitchen. Stomped, would be a better word. She was clad in black leather from breast to butt. Black stockings and unbelievably high heels completed the look. Along with the riding crop, clenched in her fist. She ignored Jimmy completely. For his part, he did his best to disappear into the gap between the fridge and the wall.
‘I told you to bring me coffee.’ She glared at Clinton. She looked, and sounded, terrifying.
‘I’m sorry. I was just talking to Jimmy.’
Don’t bring me into it
, Jimmy found himself thinking.
‘Where’s my coffee?’ Before he could answer, the crop lashed out. It hit Clinton on the thigh. Both men winced.
She strode up to the cowering Clinton. ‘You will bring me the coffee now. And remember, not too hot or too cold. Otherwise you know what will happen.’
She swung round and made a showy exit. As she did so, Jimmy could have sworn she winked at him. He straightened up from his place of refuge.
‘Shit, Clint. What’s all that about?’
‘Shut up and make the coffee quick. Otherwise I’m in for it.’
‘In for what?’
‘Use your fucking imagination.’ There was still a little fight left in him. He finished his coffee and picked up the mug for Mistress Dolores. Without a word, he turned and left.
Jimmy watched him go.
‘By the way, Clint. I’ll be going away for a few days next weekend.’
‘Post! I think it’s your man again, Pen.’
Penny came down in her pyjamas, keen to see what the response would be. Scott was at the kitchen door.
‘Tea?’
‘You’re an angel.’
She picked up the letter and took it into the relative warmth of the kitchen. In fact, the only warmth was that generated by the toaster. There was ice on the inside, as well as the outside, of the window. She sat on the edge of the table, glad of the T-shirt and tights she had on under her pyjamas. She slit the letter open.
‘So, have you got the job?’
There was a pause while she read it through a second time, just to be certain.
‘I do believe I have, Scottie. Here, take a look for yourself.’
‘So you get an all expenses paid weekend in Dorset. That sounds all right. Of course, with six writers, I imagine this will mean a smaller share of the royalties.’
‘You’re going to make a terrific lawyer, Scottie. I didn’t think of that. I was more concerned with this 1920s-themed dinner on the Saturday. Where am I going to get 1920s clothes?’
‘Your mum?’
‘Scottie, my mum was born in 1960. I’d have to go back to my great-grandmother.’
‘Well, can’t you?’ He put the tea in front of her. She looked up and gave him a big smile.
‘Thanks, Scottie, I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
‘Make your own tea for a start. So, rent something. Look up ‘1920s clothes’ on the internet. I bet there are numerous places here in London where they rent that kind of stuff out. Or try the charity shops. Use your initiative, girl.’
She sipped her tea. Something else was bothering her, and she didn’t know how to phrase it. She tried an oblique approach.
‘Scottie, do you think it’s OK for me to go to this place on my own?’
‘Surely, if there are going to be another half dozen people there, you are safe enough.’ Even as he spoke, he was revising his opinion. ‘Wait a minute, though. You only have his word for it that the others are invited.’
‘That’s what occurred to me a moment ago.’
‘For all you know, there may not be any others. You might end up in some creepy place in the middle of a forest with a weirdo.’
‘I’m sure it’s all kosher but I must admit I’m a bit nervous at the prospect.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Scottie, I don’t suppose you’d come with me, would you?’
‘What, me come as your plus one?
‘Yes.’
‘You really mean that, Pen?’
‘I’d feel a lot safer, if you’d keep me company.’
He began to realise why she was sounding a bit hesitant. ‘What about accommodation? Do you think they could find us two rooms?’
‘I’m guessing there would be an extra charge involved.’ She reached out and took his arm. ‘We could ask for a room with two beds. We already share a bathroom as it is. There’s not much I don’t know about your bodily functions.’
‘You have a point there. But will you have the willpower to keep your hands off me? You know, an old bird like you, faced with temptation in the form of a fit, handsome young man. It could be hard for you.’
‘Scottie, if I find a fit, handsome young man, I’ll worry about it then.’ She squeezed his arm and released it with a smile. ‘Thanks, Scottie, you’re a real friend. Of course, you realise this means we will have to find a costume for you, too.’
‘Bags I get to dress up as the man.’
Janet came into the café with a bundle of papers in her arms and a smile on her face.
‘I got a reply this morning, Mel. You know, from the dirty book man.’
‘And … ?’
‘I sort of got the job.’
‘What does that mean?’ Melissa put down her magazine and made room on the table for the folder of documents. ‘Did you get it or not?’
‘He’s decided to go with all six of us. But he wants to arrange a meeting. Here, read this.’ Janet had been pondering the implications all morning. First she had to work out how to get to Dorset. Like many Londoners, she no longer had a car. She would have to rent one. Then there was the question of clothes. Melissa’s brain was running along similar lines.
‘Sounds brilliant. I wonder if it’s going to be a dressy sort of place.’
Janet handed over another printout. ‘What do you think of this? I checked the hotel this morning. It looks amazing. The rooms, the grounds, the house itself look superb, don’t you think?’
Melissa had to admit that it did. ‘What a place! So we’re talking dressy, then?’
Janet nodded, her excitement bubbling up to the surface. ‘And look at this. When I checked the name of the hotel, the second result was an article from last week’s
Telegraph
. The place has just been bought by, guess who?’ She shoved the sheet across.
‘Oh my God, Alfonso dei Conti. The Camaleonte guy.’ She looked up in awe. ‘Dressy? Oh God, Jan. this is going to be something else altogether.’
‘It did say he has only just bought it. And there’s no saying whether he will be there himself. In fact, I would think it highly unlikely. He’s got interests all over the world.’
‘But he might be.’ She affected a look of frustration. ‘Blast, and I’ve just made up with Graham. Dei Conti is one seriously handsome man.’
‘A seriously handsome
older
man, Mel. I bet he’s ten, twenty years older than us.’
‘So who’s counting? And don’t forget that he’s absolutely loaded. That compensates for an awful lot of wrinkles, not that he’s got any.’
‘Mel, I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.’
‘Would I? Just you try and stop me.’
‘But what about Graham?’
‘He needs a rest, poor lamb. He’s been a very active little boy lately.’
‘Ever since he started fantasising about me and a bed full of folk?’ Janet still hadn’t forgiven her.
‘No, Jan, you’re history now. The light of his life, the wick of his candle, the detonator to his explosive is Miss Naughty Knickers herself.’ She placed a bag on the table. ‘Here, take a look at what I’ve just bought.’
‘Mel, what have you been spending your money on, now?’
‘Take a look.’ She opened the bag and Janet peered inside. All she could see was something black in a plastic wrapper. ‘I can’t take it out here. It’s a really sexy black lace body stocking. And,’ she lowered her voice to a whisper, ‘it’s got an open bit, down there. It’s open, so he can – ’
‘OK, Mel, I get it. Well, good luck to you. So, if you’re sure Graham can do without you, are you up for it?’
‘Absolutely. I tell you what, I’ll drive. Just so long as you navigate.’
‘That’s great.’ It wasn’t really. She had been driven by Melissa several times before and still remembered the white-knuckle rides to this day. Still, it was the transport problem solved. ‘So what about getting dressed up on the Saturday night? Do you know anything about 1920s fashions?’
‘No, but I know a man who does. Do you remember Graham’s friend Bob? The one they call Nine Bob Note? You would have seen him at the wedding.’
‘The one in the pink tail coat?’
‘It was just a tad over the top for the registry office, wasn’t it? Yes, that’s Bobbie. He works at the National Costume Museum.’
‘I didn’t know there was one.’
‘It’s round the back of Greenwich. I’ve been there a few times. It’s amazing. I’ll ring Bobbie and see if he can sort us out.’
‘Wonderful. So all I’ve got to do now is buy some new clothes. And I won’t be going to the naughty knicker shop.’