The Four of Us (15 page)

‘And have we ever made love beneath it?'

He chuckled. ‘No – and thirteen years ago that was because you were five and I was eight.'

‘Ah,' she said on a long sigh. ‘But that was then – and making love beneath our very special tree, on our engagement day, would be wonderfully symbolic, Francis, wouldn't it?'

‘It would indeed,' he said, and the next moment his hair was coarse beneath her fingers, his hands were hard upon her body and his mouth was dry as her tongue slipped past his lips.

The official moment of their engagement – the moment when he slid what was always known in the family as ‘the Sheringham rock' on to her finger, was not completely private.

‘It fits quite nicely, doesn't it?' her uncle said, regarding the thirty-two-carat pink diamond with satisfaction. ‘Amazing that it hasn't had to be altered. Francis's mother had to have the shank made smaller and I remember my grandmother telling me that when she was first given it she had to have it altered to fit as well.'

‘And it hasn't been remodelled since your great-grandmother's day,' her mother said, putting her champagne flute down so that she could take a closer look. ‘I did suggest to Francis that perhaps it might be an idea to have it re-fashioned in a modern setting, but he said you didn't want him to.'

‘And I didn't – and don't,' Geraldine said, one arm linked through Francis's, a glass of champagne in her free hand. ‘I love the idea that the ring looked just like this when Francis's mother wore it, and my grandmother and great-grandmother before her.'

‘It was uncut when John Francis Sheringham brought it back from India in 1858.' Her uncle looked round the vast drawing room in order to locate John Francis's portrait. ‘And which Indian prince he filched it from, no one knows.' Through the open windows, on the early evening air, there came the sound of heavy rock music. Piers Sheringham flinched as if he had been struck. ‘What, in the name of Creation, is that?'

‘The band,' Francis said, grinning. ‘They'll be tuning up or whatever it is rock bands do pre a concert. Guests are already

arriving and it's time we put in an appearance and greeted them.'

Geraldine was well aware that she looked sensational. Her hair hung waist length, as shiny as black silk, held away from her face by two heavy tortoiseshell combs. Her dress was starkly simple. A white velvet gown, the top cut halter-fashion, the skirt falling to her white, satin-clad feet, in a pure straight line. What she wasn't quite prepared for was just how sensational Artemis and Primmie looked. They had travelled down to Sussex together in Artemis's father's chauffeur-driven Rolls because, though Artemis had passed her driving test and was the proud possessor of an MG sports car, she had no intention of ruining her hair – or her dress – by driving it.

‘You look absolutely gorgeous, Artemis,' she said, meaning every word, ‘and
thin
.'

For months past, knowing she would soon be going to the Lucie Clayton Modelling School, Artemis had worked ferociously hard to lose weight and they'd all known that she'd successfully lost her chubbiness. What Geraldine hadn't realized, though, until she saw Artemis in a dress that was, for once, both appropriate to the occasion and stunningly beautiful, was that she had become catwalk model slender.

The dress was ice-blue silk and skimmed her body voluptuously, the neckline daringly low, a deeply cut V at the back reaching to her waist. Instead of looking anxious or flustered, as she had so often done in the past whenever the occasion had been special, she looked nervously exultant. ‘I
am
thin, aren't I?' she said, her gold hair coiled into an elaborate chignon, her eyes alight with happiness. ‘And you are going to introduce me to
hordes
of blue-blooded young men, aren't you?'

‘Everyone I put purposely across your path will have a title or be heir to one and have squil-lions of cash!' she promised as Primmie, who had been greeted by Piers, hurried up to them, radiant in a traditional, full-skirted ball gown of pale lemon taffeta, the neckline gently scooped, the sleeves huge and puffed and old-fashioned.

‘Ooh, isn't this just
magic
?' she said, as acres of fairy lights that had taken weeks to put into place lit up the house and the gardens. ‘And doesn't Artemis look simply
staggering
and – oh gosh – your engagement ring, Geraldine! I've never seen anything so beautiful. It looks like the Koh-i-noor!'

Kiki, too, had done her best, by her own lights, to dress for the occasion. She wasn't wearing a ball gown – that would have been too much to expect. Her silver sequinned hipsters and silver bandeau top were, however, worn with an exquisite white organdie silver-trimmed ankle-length coat that, worn unfastened, floated round her in sumptuous splendour. Her silver ankle-strap shoes sported four-inch-high, lethal-looking stainless steel heels. Her talon-like nails were painted silver and her eye shadow was silver. ‘It's my moon-girl look,' she said, drinking champagne with them before The Atoms's first set. ‘Don't you think my Cleopatra eye make-up looks even more dramatic with silver eye shadow than it did with purple eye shadow?'

‘It looks … mesmerizing,' Primmie said, wondering just how many pairs of bat-wing false eyelashes Kiki was wearing. ‘But why are you wearing your hair dragged so tight to your scalp and worn in that uncomfortable-looking knot on the top of your head?'

‘So that I look even more extraordinary, of course. Honestly, Primmie. Sometimes you're so
dim
.'

‘She looks totally futuristic, doesn't she?' Francis said as he escaped from greeting more of their guests and joined them. ‘I'm seriously considering pursuing this moon-girl image now that I'm managing her. And don't breathe a word, but this is her swan-song with The Atoms. From now on, Kiki Lane is a solo artiste.'

A pleased-as-Punch look flashed between him and Kiki and then Kiki began making her head-turning way down towards the ha-ha and the stage and Francis gave a whoop as he recognized Ossie Clark and his entourage making their way towards them.

‘I didn't know Francis had become Kiki's business manager,' Artemis said, her heart pounding as she became aware that David Bailey was making a beeline towards her and Geraldine. ‘Will they get on, do you think? You know how difficult Kiki can be.'

‘They're getting on like a house on fire,' Geraldine said, flashing the Sheringham rock in Bailey's direction. ‘How perfectly brilliantino that you're here, David, darling. Do let me introduce you to two of my closest, closest friends, Artemis Lowther and Primmie Surtees. The third closest, closest is going to be on stage in another few minutes. Have you heard Kiki Lane sing? She's unbelievable. Absolutely fabulous.'

For the next hour or two, she and Francis were so busy circulating amongst their three hundred guests that she caught only fleeting glimpses of Artemis and Primmie. She did, however, manage to steer some highly eligible young men in Artemis's direction and, considering how mesmerizingly beautiful Artemis was looking, none of them had needed any heavy-handed persuasion. Primmie, too, was quite obviously having a wonderful time. She saw her dancing with Kit Armstrong; dancing with Wayne Clayton; dancing with a far-distant Sheringham cousin.

When The Atoms were on stage, though, Kiki commanded all their attention. She kicked off with Connie Francis's ‘Stupid Cupid', followed by a whole host of other old, classic rock numbers, finishing with her favourite of favourites, ‘River Deep, Mountain High'.

‘She's going to do her rhythm and blues numbers and “White Dress, Silver Slippers” in their second set,' Francis shouted to her over a roar of applause for ‘River Deep'. ‘Have you seen the expression on Kit Armstrong's face? Kiki's going to be big, Geraldine. Big. Big. Big. And when she's earning millions, I'll be right there, taking a very healthy percentage!'

‘I hope so,' she shouted back, meaning that she hoped Kiki would make it big time, clapping for all she was worth, the Sheringham rock glittering and flashing like fire.

Later, when the mood had mellowed and a small dance band was

playing George Gershwin tunes and she was in Francis's arms,

dancing barefoot on the grass, she knew she had never been happier. ‘This is a moment I'm going to remember all my life,' she said dreamily as they swayed gently to ‘Night And Day'. ‘It's a moment I'm going to tell our children about, and our children's children.'

‘And then they will want parties in the garden with a cast of hundreds,' he said, shooting her his dearly familiar, down-slanting smile. ‘And we'll be middle-aged grouches like Pa, complaining about the noise and the damage done to the lawns.'

‘We'll be happy,' she said, pressing even closer to him, ‘and that's all that matters, Francis. It's all that ever matters.'

Artemis was deliriously happy. For the first time in her life she was attracting the kind of attention she'd always longed for. The Lucie Clayton Modelling School had given her confidence and polish. Left to her own devices, when it had come to choosing her dress, she would undoubtedly have opted for a traditional taffeta ball gown, floor skimming and full skirted. Instead, having sought advice at the school, she had screwed up her courage and bought a silk dress of stunning simplicity. Aquamarines, loaned to her by her mother, danced against her neck, and her buttercup-blond hair, scooped into an elaborate chignon, shone like satin.

Why had she never realized before that if she only lost weight – and learned how to move gracefully – she would be stunningly beautiful? Even Kiki had been gratifyingly complimentary.

‘You look sensational, Artemis,' she had said before going on stage for her first set. ‘Absolutely stunning. It's a pity Prince Charles isn't here; you'd bowl him over!'

Though Prince Charles wasn't on the guest list, droves of other young men were and Geraldine was doing a brilliant job of giving her the information she wanted about them.

‘You'd be wasting your time there,' she said as the devastatingly handsome young man she had been dancing with went off to get her champagne glass refilled. ‘Sam has tons of charm, but no cash and not much hope of any – unless he marries it. Now the Hooray Henry fast coming your way in order to take advantage of Sam's absence is a very different matter. Money, breeding and – I know how important this is to you, Artemis – a title when daddy dies.'

When Artemis danced with him, she discovered that he also had bad breath. It was a pity, because he was obviously dazzled by her, but bad breath was an unforgivable failing and she discarded him as speedily as she had discarded Sam.

By the time dusk had merged into night, Cedar Court's gardens and grounds were thick with dancing and champagne-drinking couples, and seeking Geraldine out in order that she could whisper vital information about whomever it was she was with was growing increasingly difficult.

‘Nine thousand acres in Northumberland,' Geraldine said in her ear as they squeezed past each other in the crush. ‘Bent as a five bob note. Sorry, Artemis.'

Soon, even Francis was in on what was going on.

‘Let me introduce you to Charlie Moffat,' he said, steering a goggle-eyed young man her way and then, when the introductions were over, saying out of the side of his mouth as he walked away, ‘Heir to a baronetcy. Five thousand acres in Wiltshire. Good luck!'

By the time fireworks were let off in a staggeringly beautiful display at the far side of the ha-ha, she was enjoying herself so much she even abandoned her search for Mr Right – Charlie had clammy hands – in order to share a bowl of strawberries with Howard Phillips.

‘I'm only here because Kiki introduced me to Francis a couple of weeks ago,' he said, raising his voice in order to be heard over the whoosh of rockets, showers of golden stars cascading in their wake. ‘Who is it you're a friend of? Francis or his fiancée?'

The display was building to a crescendo and, in order to heighten the spectacle,
Ride of the Valkyries
thundered from the sound system.

‘I'm one of his fiancée's best friends,' she shouted over the music as fireworks shot and swooped and crackled and blazed. ‘But I know Francis as well. Do you know that they are cousins and that they were childhood sweethearts? It's all very romantic, don't you think?'

‘Or incestuous, depending which way you look at it,' a voice said from behind them. Artemis turned to see who was speaking and her heart jarred. He was tall and thin and, unlike most of Francis's friends, who were wearing velvet suits or even satin ones, he was wearing a traditional white dinner jacket. His dark hair skimmed his collar, sleek and straight, a lock falling over his forehead in a way she found so sexy she didn't care that he didn't look hip in the way that most of Francis's friends did.

‘That's a horrid thing to say,' she said, aware that her voice sounded very odd and high.

He shrugged. ‘They're first cousins.' There was a drawl in his voice that reeked of class. ‘It's a blood relationship too close for comfort in my book.'

‘Knock it off, whoever you are.' Howard, annoyed at having his tête-à-tête with Artemis interrupted, allowed Lancashire vowels to show. ‘It's their engagement party and as you're presumably here because you're a friend, the least you can do is to act like one.'

‘Oh, I'm a friend all right.' A winged eyebrow quirked slightly. ‘But are you? I rather think not. You're certainly not a fellow Oxonian.'

Howard, who had attended a secondary modern, flushed. ‘You're an offensive sod,' he said tightly, and then, turning to Artemis, ‘Another glass of champagne, Artemis?'

‘Yes,' she said, wanting him to go away as quickly as possible. ‘Thank you, Howard.'