The Choice (25 page)

‘What do you mean?’

He tapped the side of his nose, but then went on, rather more quietly. ‘That is actually a serious point, Poppy. If you must indulge yourself in a lesbian affair, do at least try to be discreet.’

‘What lesbian affair?’

It was a pointless denial, my cheeks flaring scarlet even as he spoke, and growing hotter as he went on.

‘The one you are having with Violet Aubrey. She’s pretty, I’ll grant you that, although personally I like something to get hold of in the milk-dispensing department, but I don’t suppose that would bother you so much as you’ve plenty of your own … hmm, where was I? Oh yes. Everybody knows the two of you sleep together, apparently because your entire rowing team caught you at it, or some such story.’

‘It wasn’t like that!’

‘That’s a pity. I’d loved to have been … you don’t suppose I could watch, do you?’

‘Giles!’

‘No? Oh well … just be careful. Not that it matters all that much nowadays, but still. Another port?’

I’d sunk my head in my hands. ‘Please, yes. And tell me about your uncle.’

‘If you insist. He sometimes takes on juniors over the summer, you know, departmental stuff, a chance to chat up
the
movers and shakers, that sort of thing. You’re on the list.’

The offer was simply too good to refuse, but it was for the entire summer and I had no intention of forgoing my holiday with James and Violet. I was going to have to find an excuse, whatever it took, which meant yet another lie, but lies and secrets and Giles’ ‘discretion’ seemed to be becoming an ever more important part of my life. The first thing to do was to find out if James had booked dates, which would allow me to tell Sir Randolph that I had an unbreakable previous engagement.

There was also the problem of the rumours being spread about my relationship with Violet, and the fact that they were not only true but also very mild indeed compared with the truth was not much consolation. Whatever Giles thought, I wasn’t at all sure that a lesbian affair while at college would be considered trivial by the media and therefore by the public. I had compromised my position, and I was feeling bitter and guilty as I walked back to college, but I couldn’t bring myself to blame Violet. She was in, with her sketch book open and a frown of concentration on her face, but she smiled and looked up as she saw me.

‘Hi, Poppy. Coffee, something stronger, or straight to bed?’

‘Something stronger, then bed, but I’m afraid there’s a problem. Apparently somebody from the boat club put two and two together the other day and now there are rumours going around about us being together. Even Giles knows.’

‘They finally realised, did they? Not the juicy details, I hope.’

‘No, I don’t think so, or Giles would have said something.’

‘That’s OK then.’

I wasn’t so sure about that, but went to my own room to
fetch
the bottle of port, and poured two large glasses, before I carried on.

‘We’d better be careful, anyway. There’s another thing too. Giles’ uncle has offered me a volunteer place over the summer, so I need to know our dates for France as soon as possible. Has James booked?’

‘Not yet, but it’ll be quite early. It’s best to avoid August, because all the French go on holiday themselves.’

‘The end of July then? I’ll say I’m busy until August. This whole making-a-career business isn’t as easy as I thought it would be!’

‘How do you mean? You’ve done amazingly well.’

‘On paper, maybe, but I’d promised myself I’d be whiter than white, and there are already several things I need to hide, and hide well.’

‘Do you regret them?’

‘No, not with you, or James. You make me feel alive, and wanted, and safe. I think I’m falling in love with you, Violet, and with James.’

I was blushing as I said it, and a huge lump had risen in my throat at the thought of rejection, but she smiled and reached out to pat my thigh. ‘I’ve been in love with you since the first time I saw you, Poppy.’

We came together, holding onto each other without a word, lost in the comfort of each other’s arms. I could feel tears starting, and let them come, knowing she wouldn’t mind.

When we finally broke apart she kissed them away, only to burst out laughing. ‘Don’t go out like that, Poppy, not if you don’t want to confirm those rumours!’

I looked in her mirror, to discover that I had a bright-red-lipstick kiss on each cheek, a little smudged where I’d been crying.

Violet found a tissue and wiped my face, talking as she did so. ‘Anyway, if it does all go wrong there’s always the milk round.
With
your record they’ll snap you up, and big companies aren’t going to worry about your sexuality. In fact, it’s probably illegal.’

‘Dad would never forgive me. He’s been in politics all his life, and twice came within a few hundred votes of taking a seat for his constituency.’

‘Sorry to say this, but isn’t he just trying to fulfil his own failed aspirations through you?’

‘Maybe … yes, I suppose you could put it like that, but still …’

‘There comes a time when you have to break away from your parents, Poppy. How do you think my parents feel about me?’

‘I don’t know. You hardly ever mention them.’

‘Exactly. Let’s just say I told them about James, and they were not impressed.’

‘If you ever want to talk about it, you know I’m there.’

She kissed me and went quiet. I wanted to listen, and perhaps return some of the comfort and sympathy she’d given me, but she went back to her port, looking thoughtful before suddenly breaking into smiles.

‘Summer’s going to be wonderful. There’s so much we can teach you, and there are all sorts of games we can play with the three of us together. You just wait!’

I smiled, my imagination already running wild, but she stood up, striking a dramatic pose at the window her head tilted back, one elegant leg raised to rest her foot on the chair.

‘Paris, the Bois de Boulogne. We are kneeling, side by side in a verdant copse, naked, our bottoms rosy. Six men have just witnessed our spanking and the first two are feeding their erections into our mouths. James stands by, counting a bundle of Euros.’

‘Go on, I’ve always wanted to be a high-class call-girl!’

‘There’s nothing high class about it, darling. The spanking
show
was just to keep us in order and we’ve been sold for ten Euros a suck.’

‘You are wicked, Violet, that’s worse!’

‘Better, darling. If you’re going to have a fantasy, make it as rude as possible, do it in style. Now, why don’t you lock the oak and let’s get you out of that dress and into bed.’

Sleeping with Violet felt completely natural, and in the morning I found myself more resentful of the rumours being spread about us than I was afraid. It really was nothing to do with anybody else, and again I had to remind myself that if I was to be a public figure I would have to guard my privacy as carefully as could be, because the media would regard anything I did as everything to do with everybody else. That was not a happy thought, and set my mind onto what she’d said about the milk round as I struggled to revise the next morning.

She was right, in that my achievements at the Chamber alone would stand me in good stead for a job with pretty much any company I showed an interest in, ensuring a good salary in a secure career, barring total economic collapse. It was certainly tempting, and would mean I could abandon all, or nearly all, of the pretence and deceit I was coming to hate so much. Yet the more I considered the idea the stronger the image of Dad’s face set in disappointment grew. Anger I could have handled, but that wasn’t his way. Disappointment was another matter.

Violet had told me a little more as we lay in bed together in the dark about how her parents had found out first about her love of being spanked and later about what she did with James. Just to listen to her made me feel cold inside, and I was sure I’d never have the courage to admit to it, or to defend myself if I was caught out. Admitting to an affair with another girl would be bad enough, but the thought of their reaction
on
learning that I’d come to enjoy being turned over the knee to have my bottom smacked was intolerable.

I couldn’t put it from my mind, making it hard to revise, and I eventually gave up and went over to the Chamber. Unlike me, Giles had opposition to his bid for re-election, and quite strong opposition. His choice of controversial debates and speakers had generated a lot of interest and also criticism, so that everybody had their own opinion. I was in two minds myself, impressed by his dedication to free speech but far from impressed by his submission to his uncle, although with my own recent thoughts I was wondering if that made me a hypocrite.

Either way, I had decided on the game to play, voicing limited approval for him so as to retain as broad a base of support for myself as possible. His opponent was centre left, which was going to make for a tougher fight than the term before, but his absolute certainty in a narrow band of political convictions had limited his popularity and I was fairly sure Giles would emerge victorious. Another term’s worth of speakers with extreme views and debates that drew pickets to our gates more often than not and I would be ready to stand myself, assuming I could pass prelims. Fail, and I was out of Oxford, in which case I might as well go and indulge myself in Violet’s fantasy of the night before, selling myself in the Bois de Boulogne for ten Euros a suck.

Tonight was the night of our double date; the four of us were supposed to be meeting in Mary’s lodge at six o’clock and then going on to Browns, but with Sir Randolph now one of the party everything had changed. Giles met me and we walked across to the Fellows’ car park, where Stephen, Lucy and his uncle were standing beside a glossy black Bentley. Stephen seemed blissfully unaware that there was anything wrong between us, and greeted me with a kiss, which gave me little
option
but to accept the same from Sir Randolph, but on my cheek. The old boy was beaming as he addressed me.

‘Giles tells me you’re taking up my offer of summer work? That’s splendid.’

‘Thank you. It’s very kind of you.’

‘Not at all. You’ll brighten the place up. Term finishes on the twentieth, or so Giles tells me, so have the weekend with your parents, then up to London and we’ll get down to business.’

If the lecherous twinkle in his eye was anything to go by I could guess the sort of business he was hoping for. By the look of it I was going to have to spend more of my summer defending my virtue than surrendering it, but I had to have some fun.

‘Late July is difficult, I’m afraid, but otherwise that’s fine.’

He gave a little tut and a shake of his head. ‘Commitment, my dear, is very important.’

Giles broke in. ‘Of course she’ll rearrange her dates, Uncle. Shall we move on then?’

We did, out of Oxford and away to the south. Giles was driving, and obviously knew where he was going, quickly leaving the main road to thread his way through a series of lanes so tiny and cut so deep that I might almost have been back home. When he finally stopped we were high on the downs, overlooking a broad flat valley, with the distant spires of Oxford glinting red in the setting sun, a scene spoiled only by a set of colossal grey cooling towers in the middle distance. Giles stretched as he got out.

‘The Vale of White Horse, in case you didn’t know. Magnificent, isn’t it, barring Didcot.’

I wondered if he’d merely stopped to admire the view before going on to the restaurant, but he locked the car and started towards what appeared to be a farm. There were no other buildings close by, just open downland in front and a
single
set of chimneys rising above the hedges and woods behind us.

Stephen took my arm. ‘This is a wonderful place. It’s called The Barn.’

‘That fits. Have you been before?’

‘It’s owned by the parents of a chap who was at school with us, just opened. We tried it out last Sunday. You’ll love it.’

Only as we rounded the corner of a great flint and brick barn did I realise what was going on. It was a working farm, after a fashion, but the yard was scrubbed clean and the buildings had obviously been smartened up. There was a shop to one side, advertising organic produce and with two tables set out beneath big yellow sunshades in front. The barn itself had been converted into a restaurant, with smart glass doors and long tables covered by white linen cloths and cutlery and glassware set out ready for diners. Only three other people were there, a middle-aged couple with an elderly friend or relative, all three intent on their menus.

Giles glanced around, nodding in satisfaction. ‘Perfect, isn’t it? Very discreet.’

The word ‘discreet’ sparked a warning in my mind, but I quickly decided I was being silly. With the other guests there, and presumably staff, it was hard to imagine what he could be planning, while in any event he was hardly going to suggest that Lucy and I service the three of them under the table.

He didn’t, nor anything else unexpected or rude. The only embarrassing moment came when Sir Randolph had drunk rather too much and began to grow maudlin, advising the four of us to get married and start producing children as soon as possible. Giles was merely amused, but the look of worship in Lucy’s eyes as she looked up at him made me fairly sure she’d have accepted a proposal like a shot. Stephen didn’t react at all.

The restaurant was good, serving only the farm’s own produce and that of their neighbours, even down to English wine, which caused a mutter of complaint from Sir Randolph. Unfortunately, aside from a chef who we never saw, there were only two people about, Giles and Stephen’s old school friend, Nigel, and a girl from the village. As the place started to fill up the service grew slower and slower, so that it was nearly midnight by the time we’d finished. Giles had held back on the drink, but kept it flowing for the rest of us, so I was feeling more than a little tipsy as we climbed back into the car.

Stephen was next to me, and put his arm around my shoulder as soon as we got in. I didn’t resist, unready to work out my muddled feelings and definitely not prepared to discuss them with Giles in earshot, let alone his uncle. Lucy had definitely had too much, and was soon asleep, her head knocking gently on the window as Giles navigated the twists and turns of the Berkshire lanes. She was still asleep when we got to Oxford, and Giles was supporting her as he left us to escort his uncle to a guest room.