Bobby's Girl (13 page)

‘I didn't offer to pay for his room so we could be alone.'

‘No?' Sandy raised a sceptical eye.

‘No,' Bobby repeated. ‘Tomorrow's a big day. I'm
giving the opening lecture. I need a good night's sleep and you snore.'

‘Why don't we all go to Central Park to look for Penny's friends?' Sandy suggested.

‘You're too tired to walk, remember?' Bobby emphasised the last word.

‘So I am.' Sandy settled back comfortably and closed his eyes.

‘And you're exhausted from all that travelling.' Bobby turned to Penny.

‘It's odd, but I feel quite awake after that bath. Although given the horrors and length of the journey here I might collapse later.'

‘We'll make it a short walk round the park. And if you collapse I'll carry you back.' Bobby took her bag from her. ‘Leave this here.'

‘No way. Because I'll have to come back here to get it.' She wrenched it from his grasp.

‘At least let me carry it for you.' Bobby tried to take it from her.

‘Children, stop quarrelling.' Sandy lifted the pillow from beneath his head and punched it into a more conducive shape. ‘You're disturbing my beauty sleep.' 

The early evening air in Central Park was hot and humid and strangely seductive after the ‘canned' air in the hotel. But not as seductive as Sandy's assertion that Bobby had paid someone a hundred dollars to take their place at the orientation course so he could see her again.

She stopped and looked around. ‘It's lovely here. So green and peaceful. Block out the skyscrapers and you'd never think you were in the middle of a city.'

Bobby reached for her hand as they strolled towards Conservatory Water and the
Alice in Wonderland
statue. ‘This is one of my favourite walks to one of my favourite places. Do you have any?'

‘Dozens. There's a beautiful park in Luxembourg and a stunning one in Rome … What's so funny?' she asked when he started to laugh.

‘You. Your favourite places aren't even in your own country.'

‘Pontypridd – that's the town I come from − has a wonderful park too. It's huge and right in the centre of town. And we're surrounded by mountains. My brothers, sisters and I used to pack a picnic in the morning, take our bikes or horses and roam for miles when we were small.'

‘You ride?'

She nodded.

‘And have your own horse?'

‘My family had a few. My father arranged for them to be stabled at a farm near our home.'

‘And you've travelled?'

‘That's down to my father. He loves Europe. Especially France and Italy. He used to drive us there every summer when we were children to show us the palaces, cathedrals and museums. Although there never seemed to be enough time to see everything properly. I remember one fortnight—'

‘That word is so Shakespeare.'

She looked up at him. ‘You don't have fortnights here?'

‘No, but we will now you're here to tell us about them.'

‘Where did you go on holidays with your parents?' she asked curiously.

‘Nowhere.'

‘You stayed home all summer?'

‘All my holidays were spent in camps. Tennis, sailing, chess, riding, skiing in winter − you name it, I was sent there. Which is why I'm an expert on absolutely everything.'

‘And modest with it,' she mocked. ‘You couldn't have spent much time with your parents.'

‘None. I see my grandmother occasionally. But before I went to boarding school it was mainly nannies.'

‘You were brought up by nannies?'

‘A succession of them, because my grandmother didn't like me getting too close to any particular nanny. She was also always on the lookout for a stricter version of my current one. Why do you find that strange?' he asked. ‘Nannies are a British invention.'

‘You do have parents?' she checked.

‘My mother's dead.'

‘I'm sorry. I had no right to pry,' she apologised.

‘You don't have to look sad, I can't remember her.'

‘She died when you were a baby?'

‘Three years ago, but she'd been in and out of nursing homes for years for drink and drug addiction.'

‘That must have been dreadful for you and your father. No wonder he sent you away to camps.'

‘He didn't send me anywhere. My father's stepmother − who I suppose is my step-grandmother, but I refer to her as my grandmother, to save time – did. I haven't seen my father since I was one – or so my grandmother tells me. He's just divorced wife number seven and lives in a hippy commune in Mexico. My mother was wife number one. When my father divorced her, my grandmother drew up the settlement. She gave them cash and annuities in exchange for me.'

‘Your parents handed you over to your grandmother for money?' She was aghast.

‘My grandmother wanted to groom me as her heir.
My parents didn't want me for anything in particular.'

‘I can't imagine any parent just handing over their child, especially for money.'

‘They married too young and I think I did well out of the deal. By all accounts my mother was a career hypochondriac and nymphomaniac. And I don't think I'd enjoy life in a hippy commune in Mexico. No amount of free love can compensate for a lack of electricity and hot and cold running water.'

Fired by her college psychology classes, she asked. ‘Is that your way of coping with your parents' rejection, making jokes?'

‘Some people are good at bringing up kids, some disastrous. Whenever I see her, my grandmother reminds me that I had a lucky escape. If either of my parents had kept me I would have been dragged around here, there and everywhere and, in all probability, abandoned on the way and left to fend for myself.'

‘You're not bitter?'

‘No.'

‘Well, I would be if my parents had handed me over to a relative when I was born.' She imagined Bobby's upbringing as cold, lonely and impersonal, filled with nannies, boarding schools, camps …

‘You know what it is to have a family. All I've known is life with my grandmother who ensured I received the best money could buy, in education, clothes, toys, food and everything else she could think of. As the saying goes, you don't miss what you never had.'

‘Does she live in New York?'

‘Occasionally. She travels a lot. She's in Italy at the moment.'

‘And your mother and father never contacted you, wrote or telephoned?'

‘What for? Both of them knew my grandmother would look after me better than they could.'

‘You must be very fond of her.'

‘“Fond” – that's a strange word to use in conjunction with my grandmother. She's a martinet of the old school. Terrifying, with fearfully high standards her staff and relatives can never hope to meet.'

‘Do you see much of her?'

‘No. I was seven when I was sent away to school and, as I said, holidays were spent in camps. But I usually spend Labour Day weekend in her summer place on Cape Cod, and Christmas Day at her New York apartment.' He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. ‘There's no need to pity me. I was given all the things I needed and a few luxuries I didn't.'

‘Have you any brothers and sisters?'

‘Last time I checked, around seventeen half-brothers and -sisters. My mother never reproduced again, but my father couldn't stop. I've never met any of them. Look, there's the statue. Isn't it stunning?'

They'd reached the eleven-foot bronze depiction of the Mad Hatter's tea party. ‘They're all here: Alice, the Mad Hatter, the Cheshire Cat, the Dormouse, Alice's cat Dinah, the March Hare and the White Rabbit.' He jumped up on the larger of the toadstool seats. ‘That's enough about me. What about you?' He leant his elbow on the toadstool ‘table' in front of Alice's arm,
propped his head on his hand and gazed at Penny.

‘Compared to you I've led a dull life. I lived at home and attended local day schools until I went to college when I was eighteen. I have a sister, two brothers and four adopted sisters.'

‘Your parents adopted four girls?' He whistled. ‘Brave, brave people.'

‘They're years older than me. They were evacuated to Pontypridd from London during the war. Their mother died in the Blitz and their father was killed fighting the Germans. So my mother took them in.'

‘Didn't your father have a say?'

‘Not at the time, he was a POW in Germany.'

‘Large family for him to come home to.'

‘He didn't mind. In fact, he's as close to them as he is to us.' She ran her hands over the smooth and shiny surface of the statue, polished by the children who'd climbed on it.

‘What would have happened to the girls if your mother hadn't adopted them?'

‘They would have had to go into an orphanage. As they were already living in our house my mother said it was simpler to keep them.'

‘But they would have been looked after in an orphanage?'

‘Not as well as my mother did, but yes, they would have been looked after. What was it like to spend all your time in boarding school?'

‘I told you, I don't know any different. It wasn't bad, but I'd be lying if I said I liked the square-bashing.'

‘Square-bashing at a boarding school?'

‘It was a military academy. Three generations of Brosnas have been enrolled there. My grandfather loved it – or so my grandmother told me. She thought it would stiffen my back along with my resolve to run the family businesses. Why she thought that, when the academy did no such thing for my father, who absconded from the place every chance he got, I don't know.' He offered her a hand and she sat on the ‘table' beside him.

‘And will you run the family businesses?'

‘Hell no, I intend to do my own thing.'

‘Which is?'

‘When I've finished at Oxford, music.'

‘What kind of music?'

‘Every kind,' he said airily. ‘Jazz, pop, classical, folk.'

‘You play?'

‘The piano, guitar and saxophone. I've already played backing at recording sessions. My grandmother approves of it as a hobby.'

‘Will she let you follow a career in music?' she probed.

‘Not willingly. But I've learnt not to argue with her. It's easier not to tell her my plans. She has people watching me and she approves of my university course. She thinks medieval history will give me risqué stories about ancient royalty to relate at dinner parties while I run the family businesses.'

‘What are the family businesses?'

‘Numerous and boring. You're beautiful in this light,' he whispered as the sun began to sink below the trees that surrounded the statue.

She glanced at her watch. ‘I'm still on British time.'

‘It's coming up to seven. We'll find somewhere to eat on the way back to the hotel. Afterwards I'll allow you to have an early night. Then tomorrow, you should be on eastern seaboard time.'

‘You'll “
allow
” me? That's the second time you've used that word.' She thought of Rich. ‘I warn you, I don't like bossy men.' She jumped down from the statue.

‘That's an improvement.'

‘What?'

‘Telling me what you don't like in men. One day and already you're trying to change me.'

Dinner was a shared bottle of wine and a plate of pasta in an Italian restaurant. Halfway through the meal, she could barely keep her eyes open. Bobby paid the bill and they left. Night had fallen, warm, sticky and noisy over the city.

Bobby hailed a taxi.

‘My room or yours?' he asked when they entered the lobby.

‘Yours.'

‘Your case is in your room.'

‘You said I could use the contents of your toilet bag.'

‘Just as well I packed a spare toothbrush.'

They took the lift, rode up one floor and walked down the corridor. He unlocked the door to find a note on the bed. He read it, screwed it up and tossed it into the bin.

‘From Sandy?' she asked.

‘From Sandy,' he echoed.

‘What did he say?'

‘You don't want to know.'

‘Yes I do.' She dived on the basket and retrieved the piece of paper. Bobby tried to snatch it from her as she smoothed it out but he was too late.

She read it aloud. ‘
Hope she's worth it and you strike lucky. It's cost you thirty bucks
.'

‘Am I worth it?'

He pulled her close. ‘Let me find out.'

Slowly, inexorably, his lips pressed down on hers. Warmth permeated from her mouth downwards into her entire body. She lifted her arms and locked them around his neck, pulling him even closer.

He fell backwards on to the bed, taking her with him.

‘You're sure?'

‘Very sure.' She moved away and stripped off her clothes.

‘You're beautiful,' he whispered when she was naked. ‘This isn't going to be a one night—'

She laid her fingers over his mouth. ‘No talking.'

Taking her fingers from his lips he kissed them before turning back the bedclothes. She crawled between the sheets and watched him undress.

Thoughts of Rich came to mind when Bobby lay beside her but they were soon dispelled.

During what followed she realised she'd had sex many times with Rich. But this was the first time in her life she'd made love.

She woke with a start. The glare of neon lights penetrated the thin curtains in Bobby's room. Shadows made stick
and arrow shapes on the walls and ceiling. The sound of sirens and cars echoed in from the street, mingling with shouts of ‘goodnight' and doors banging as guests walked the corridors to their rooms.

She gazed at Bobby lying alongside her, his face relaxed in sleep, his black curls tousled over the pillow. Was it her imagination or were his lips curved in a smile?

Ridiculously wide awake and restless considering it was dark, she moved on to her back. Why had Bobby found it necessary to tell her their relationship would amount to more than one night? Was it a case of protesting too much because that's what it would be?

Would Bobby think less of her for sleeping with him a few hours after meeting her – granted for the second time?

As Kate kept reminding her, the modern world had moved on from the outmoded morality her mother had instilled in her and her sisters. The yardstick of her parents' generation had been made obsolete by the advent of the contraceptive pill.

But outmoded or not – the influence of her mother's teaching persisted in lingering.

Would – did – Bobby regard her as a slut?

She slipped from the bed and reached for Bobby's white towelling robe. It was too long. She wrapped it around herself. It was warm in the cool air that belched from the noisy rickety air-conditioning unit. The collar brushed her cheek and she breathed in the sharp pine fragrance of Bobby's cologne and bath oil.

A siren blasted below her as she pushed aside the
curtains. The numbers on the electric clock on the bedside table read three-thirty, yet the street was as crowded as a Saturday morning in Pontypridd market. Although the people looked somewhat different.