She looked around, trying to work out where they were. They were travelling down the kind of English country lanes that could be anywhere.
‘We’re in Northamptonshire,’ he said, as if reading her mind. ‘And here we are!’
They drove through a pair of enormous wrought iron gates and up a long driveway lined with lime trees before coming to a halt on a semi-circular gravelled carriage turn in front of a spectacular Jacobean mansion.
‘This is it.’ Xander turned off the engine. ‘Get ready to leave your inhibitions outside, Imogen. This kind of party requires a broad mind.’
‘I’m sure I can handle it,’ she said with a smile as she checked her make-up in the tiny visor mirror.
‘Good. Come on then. Let’s party!’
The great arched oak door was opened by a man in black tie, with sandy thinning hair and sharp, pale blue eyes.
‘Ah, Xander!’ he cried as he saw them. ‘Well done, old chap. You’ll get the party started.’ He turned to Imogen.
‘This is Imogen,’ Xander introduced her. ‘Imogen – Piers.’
‘Delighted,’ purred his friend. ‘Any friend of Xander … as the saying goes. Please come in. Everything’s warming up nicely in the library.’
He led them down the stone-floored hallway, on and on, past many rooms, until finally he opened a door and a burst of laughter and chatter greeted them.
The bookshelves were filled with leather-bound volumes shut away behind wire screens; the remaining walls hung with large gilt-framed oil paintings and a collection of antique swords. Several people lounged about on sofas and armchairs, equally divided between men and women, the
men
in black tie and the girls in black dresses. They all looked very sophisticated and glamorous.
Imogen looked about her, interested. The copious amounts of booze and drugs on display gave her a hint as to what Xander had meant about her needing to be broad-minded. On a polished walnut table was a huge silver tureen full of crushed ice in which a dozen bottles were chilling, with another dozen ready on the table. Across the room on another table was a selection of other mood enhancers: a bowl of tablets, tiny tabs of acid laid out on leather writing folder, and other pharmaceuticals she didn’t recognise. The guests at this party were evidently intent on losing all constraints and letting rip.
‘I think you’ll see the theme emerging,’ murmured Xander in her ear. Her skin prickled pleasantly at the feel of his breath on her neck. ‘Even the hors d’oeuvres stay true to the colour scheme.’ He gestured at a large bowl of ice holding a crystal dish piled high with caviar, the black eggs moist and gleaming.
‘Xander, my man!’ roared another of the guests, a fleshy-faced man with pink cheeks and small round spectacles. ‘Wonderful to see you. Would you like a drink?’
‘Hello, Gawain. I certainly would. This is Imogen.’ Xander propelled her smoothly forward.
‘Gawain Tudor-Jones. How d’ye do?’ He bowed, offered Imogen his arm and led her towards the drinks table. ‘A drink for you too, dear Imogen?’
‘Yes, please,’ she said, smiling. Perhaps this was going to be fun. The public school crowd Xander ran with might have its faults but they always had good manners – at least, at first.
Gawain gestured over at the table. ‘I’ve had quite a time finding champagne in a black bottle so we compromised on the Dom Pérignon OEnothèque 1995 – the bottle is actually
a
very, very dark green, but it’s got a black label and black foil, so we think it counts.’ He turned and called, ‘Robin, we’re ready for another bottle!’
Yet another young man in black tie came forward, carrying a sword taken from the display on the wall. He went over to the silver tureen and pulled out a bottle. Holding it out wide by the base, he put the blade against the neck for a second, then took back his sword arm and with one strong stroke sliced through the bottle, decapitating it neatly at the neck and leaving a clean, diagonal edge. White foam fizzed up through the gap as Gawain darted forward with a pair of flutes.
‘Nice cutting,’ he said admiringly.
‘Thanks,’ Robin said, ‘I’m getting my eye in now.’ He poured the champagne into the waiting glasses.
Imogen laughed. ‘Isn’t that rather a dangerous way of getting bottles open?’
‘Tonight
is
dangerous,’ Gawain said, handing a foaming glass to her. His eyes glittered. ‘And drama is everything.’ He took a sip from his own glass, then ran his gaze appreciatively over her low-cut dress and high heels. ‘You look very sexy, my dear, but somehow a little too
pure
to be Xander’s usual type.’
She took a sip of champagne, enjoying the sensation of the bubbles fizzing on her tongue and the dry, biscuity taste.
Perhaps I’m going to be naughty tonight. Perhaps I’m going to get very drunk and stoned and do outrageous things
… ‘We’re old friends.’
Gawain raised his eyebrows and smirked. ‘You must be a very understanding old friend.’ Then a lecherous expression crossed his face. ‘And I hope you’ll be a good friend of mine before the night is out.’
Imogen raised her eyebrows flirtatiously and said, ‘We’ll see, Gawain, we’ll see.’
‘What are you saying, Gawain, you old fraud?’ Xander said, coming up to them. ‘Have you got that drink for me?’
Imogen gazed at him fondly. He looked unutterably beautiful in evening dress, his dark blond hair spiky and his cheekbones even sharper than they used to be. They shared a conspiratorial smile as Gawain filled another glass and handed it to Xander. Just then Piers came into the library carrying a large bowl of black powder.
‘Ah!’ cried Gawain, his face lighting up. ‘Treats!’
‘I thought tonight we could rechristen this “gunpowder”,’ Piers declared loudly as the assembled crowd buzzed with appreciation at the sight. ‘Don’t ask me how I managed to make it black – I’ll just admit that it was bloody difficult. But … a theme is a theme.’ He sat down on the sofa and pulled a small card table towards him with a grey marble slab set ready on its top. Then he spooned out some powder and began preparing it to hand round to his guests.
Black cocaine
, Imogen thought.
It seems even more decadent than the usual white stuff. It certainly looks more sinister
.
Piers handed the slab to the girls next to him, who took some proffered cut-off black straws and inhaled the lines eagerly.
‘Us next,’ murmured Xander into her ear. Gawain had wandered off and was chatting happily to a redheaded girl by the window.
When the slab came to Imogen, she took a straw and snorted up her line along with all the others.
What the hell?
she thought recklessly.
I’m a grown up. Why shouldn’t I have some fun too?
A few moments after taking it, she felt the pleasurable rush. She knew she would never do this in her ordinary life – the life of a respectable trainee lawyer who might party at weekends but who didn’t mess with Class-A substances. But there was something about being with Xander that made her live in the moment, heedless of the
consequences
. She felt capable of anything and ready for excitement and risk. Picking up her glass of champagne, she took a large swig.
‘Would you like to see the orangery?’ Xander whispered in her ear.
‘Yes, please,’ she said, hungry to spend some time alone with him, and followed him as he wandered out of the French windows and down on to a soft green lawn. Behind the house, the lawn stretched away, sloping gently down to a wood at the bottom.
‘You mustn’t mind Gawain,’ Xander said, as they walked towards a long honey-coloured stone building with arched windows that stretched from just above the ground almost as high as the roof along its whole length. ‘He gets a little carried away.’ He lit a cigarette. ‘But he’s harmless, really. Just tell him to piss off.’
They walked into the orangery which was warm from the trapped heat and the micro-climate created by a lavish assembly of trees, bushes and shrubs in all kinds of pots, from tiny to gigantic, scattered about seemingly at random. It was very quiet inside. They wandered over to a wrought-iron bench and sat down together, clutching their champagne glasses.
‘It feels like this is gearing up to be quite a party,’ Imogen remarked. ‘That’s a lot of booze and drugs waiting for us all in there.’
Xander nodded. ‘I’m holding back for a while. Don’t want to get too out of it, too soon. Besides, I’m starving and I know Piers has arranged a dinner. If I get stoned now, I’ll lose my appetite for a while and that’s no good. My bloody doctor says I’m too thin.’
‘Your doctor?’ Imogen asked with concern. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine.’ He took another sip of his drink.
‘Do you party like this a lot?’ she asked gently. The iron
bench
felt cold under her thin dress. The dense aroma of tropical plants in a confined warm space filled the air. It was almost stifling.
‘There’s no denying it, Midge, I party like this all the time. It’s pretty much all I do with my life.’ He grinned, half apologetically. ‘Doesn’t everyone want to live like this, if they can? All my rich friends could do anything with their lives, and you know what they
want
to do? This.’ He shrugged. ‘So I guess I must have the perfect life.’
There was a pause and then she said in a small voice, ‘But where will it all lead to? Where will it end?’
‘Well, there’s the rub. It’s self-perpetuating. Just goes on and on until, I guess, even partying starts to be boring. That’s when I’ll find something more serious to do. Maybe I’ll get married then and do the family thing. I’d like a load of kids someday – I like kids.’
‘But … don’t you ever feel like you’re wasting your life?’ she enquired tentatively. She didn’t want him to think she was criticising him.
He laughed and fixed her with a gaze that was both tender and amused. ‘Of course I am! That’s partly the point. It feels so ridiculously luxurious to waste a life. It’s the ultimate way to show how free you are: just letting the years dissolve away in the pursuit of pleasure.’
Imogen put her hand on his arm and said earnestly, ‘You could do so much more. You’re not like these other guys. You’ve got talent, you’re clever and funny …’
‘And I’m not really all that rich, so I’d better get myself sorted out, right?’ Xander smiled. ‘You’ve always wanted to look after me, haven’t you? I can feel your desperation for me to get myself straight – it’s reaching out to me.’
‘It’s not that I disapprove …’ she began quickly, but he interrupted.
‘I know.’ His expression changed. He stared down at his
glass
, frowning and nervously toying with the base. ‘Actually … you’re right. I do want to change. I have had enough.’ He stared straight up at her, his eyes serious. ‘The drink and drugs and wasted sex … they’re tiring me out. I want to feel good again. It’s so long since I’ve felt
really
good, you know? Happy and healthy and raring to go. Christ, I’m only twenty-six.’ His gaze softened and the corner of his mouth twisted up in that lopsided smile of his. ‘You used to be in love with me, didn’t you, little Imogen?’
She flushed. ‘I … I suppose I was. Once.’
He reached over and put his hand on hers. ‘I told you I was half in love with you too, remember? I know you would have been terribly, terribly good for me. Maybe you could even have given me a purpose in life. Led me out of this crazy world.’
A rush of hope filled her as a new future suddenly opened up in front of her. ‘There’s time,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I still could – if you’ll give me a chance.’
‘Really?’ He looked at her almost imploringly. ‘You still feel like that? I thought you would have grown out of your schoolgirl crush years ago.’
She stared at him, trying to drink in everything about him: his casual grace, the intensity of his dark blue eyes with their sweep of dark lashes, the size of his hands holding the glass. Was he really asking her if they could be together, if they had a chance? ‘I’ve never stopped loving you, not really,’ she whispered, half stumbling over the words, her heart racing. ‘I wanted to – but I couldn’t.’
His eyes softened and he reached out his hand, touching her bare shoulder. ‘Is that true?’
Her skin seemed to burn where he touched it. She nodded, yearning for him to embrace her again and this time tell her what she’d waited so long to hear: that he loved her too, and wanted to be with her.
A loud clanging interrupted them. The dinner gong was being banged loudly in the house. For a long moment they stared at each other in the prickly warmth, not sure who would reach for who first. Then Xander smiled at her and squeezed her hand.
‘Let’s go in,’ he said, standing up. ‘I’m starving.’
Dinner was served in an enormous ballroom with one long table arranged in the middle. The room was dark, lit only by the candles from two vast candelabra on the table. The candlelight revealed a scene like that from a Dutch eighteenth-century still-life. Along the black tablecloth dark-skinned fruit and vegetables were piled: aubergines, black grapes and apples painted black. Decanters of rich red wine were dark as blackened blood in the dim light. Everything was twined with black silk ribbon and ivy spray-painted black.
Beside each plate was a gift wrapped in black crêpe paper and tied with silk ribbon. The others had taken their places by the time Xander and Imogen came in.
‘Imogen, sit here by me.’ Piers patted the place next to him. Xander sauntered over to his seat between two girls, a beautiful blonde and a gorgeous brunette, who both greeted him enthusiastically. ‘I think we should open our gifts.’
Imogen took hers from beside her plate and opened it. Under the crêpe paper was a box and in that was a small packet of black Sobranie cigarettes, a pill, a black bottle of fluid marked ‘Deliciously warming, tingling and easing oil for a lady’s hot cunt’, a small black vibrating dildo and three black condoms.
Oh, God
, she thought, staring at the contents. She wanted to giggle. So now it was absolutely plain what sort of a party this was.
There was much laughing and exclaiming over the gifts.
The
boys had bottles marked ‘A libidinous, enlivening lotion for the rearing tool of a gentleman’ and a cock ring with a vibrating clitoral stimulator.