The Marrying Game (15 page)

‘That,’ Rufa said, ‘was the most utterly wince-making experience of my entire life.’

Wendy was bristling with indignation. ‘Honestly, they might have let you stay. You looked perfectly lovely, and you weren’t doing any harm.’

An hour and a half after being bounced, they were all crowded round Wendy’s kitchen table, sharing greasy packets of fish and chips. Roshan had removed his dinner jacket, bow tie and stiff collar. He sat in his shirtsleeves and red braces, delicately dipping chips into a plate of mayonnaise. Nancy and Rufa were in their dressing gowns. Max, summoned by Roshan’s mobile phone, had driven round to the mews to collect the strayed revellers. It had been his idea to pick up a takeaway on the way home. Roshan had got out of the car to buy the food, and his elegant appearance had caused a
small
stir at Captain Nemo’s Fish Bar in the Kentish Town Road.

Max’s hand accidentally brushed against Nancy’s, as they both reached for the last piece of battered haddock. ‘I don’t think we should write the evening off as a complete waste of time,’ he said. ‘We should think of it as a learning experience. A dress rehearsal.’

‘It was our bad luck to choose a party where they were so strict about gatecrashers,’ Nancy said, with her mouth full. ‘The great question is, have we messed up with the earl? I mean, should we carry on chasing him, or cross him off the list?’

Rufa frowned. ‘You can marry him if you like. I’m having nothing more to do with him. Nobody has ever dared to look at me like that.’ She was pale with outrage.

‘Absolutely,’ Roshan declared. He could not bear Rufa to be slighted.

‘I’ll choose myself another target, from our list of also-rans. In the meantime, Max is quite right – we must at least have learned something.’

‘I’m surprised it hasn’t put you off altogether,’ Wendy said.

‘Just the opposite. I’m more determined than ever. While I’m selecting my new target, we must concentrate all our efforts on Tiger Durward.’

Nancy sighed. ‘But if Lord Snooty wouldn’t give you the time of day, what chance will I have with the big lummox?’

‘You’ll knock his socks off.’ Rufa smiled warmly at her sister. ‘If I’ve learned anything tonight, it’s that you are our major asset – you were magnificent.’

‘Hear hear!’ cried Roshan. ‘I thought I’d do myself an injury when you made that topless crack.’

The reminder made them all laugh yet again. They had been in paroxysms since telling Max, who had laughed so much he had to stop near Oxford Circus for a pee. Rufa did not know why it struck them all as hilarious. Perhaps, she thought, because it put things in proportion, and helped them to feel they had kept a little dignity.

‘It’s a damned shame you won’t be able to use the pictures,’ Max said. ‘I bet they’re gorgeous.’

Roshan became businesslike. ‘I’m afraid we went over the top with those frocks. We have to strike the perfect balance between being nicely noticeable, and positively sticking out.’

Rufa stood up to make them second cups of tea. ‘We need to move downmarket. Whatever the Man said about our wonderful ancestry, it obviously isn’t visible to the naked eye. Next time, we need legitimate entry to an event where class doesn’t matter so much. A place where photographers are welcome, and simple faith means more than Norman blood.’

‘Simple faith, or bosoms,’ Nancy said.

Roshan beamed, delighted that the Game was still up and running. ‘Leave it to me.’

Chapter Nine

THE OFFICIAL INVITATION
to the Cumbernauld Foundation Ball said ‘White Tie’. Rufa was alarmed by this, but Roshan said not to worry – it was a ludicrous piece of affectation, since most of the guests would be aspirational suburbanites who had not yet twigged that the 1980s were over. ‘All it really means is permission to wear more glitter – half the women will use it as an excuse to give their big puffy wedding dresses another outing. If you two wear your Clares, you’ll make everyone else look like trash.’

Rufa, after last time, was anxious to know as much as possible in advance. ‘What if someone recognizes us from Sheringham House?’

He snorted. ‘Highly unlikely. None of those toffee-noses would be seen dead at a do like this. You must understand, it couldn’t be more of a contrast. They want to make lots of money, they’ll sell the tickets to absolutely anyone and they adore the press. It’s perfect for a spot of Tiger-hunting.’

Lady Helen Durward, mother of the more famous Tiger, was a patroness of the charity. Tiger (who had recently split up with his soap-star girlfriend) was to be at her table, along with Anthea Turner, who had agreed to draw the raffle, and Alan Titchmarsh, who was to conduct the auction.

‘So it’s not quite top-drawer?’ Nancy asked.

Roshan said, ‘It’s not even in the bureau. This time, we are entering at the highest level – I have a delightful acquaintance on the organizing committee.’ This was Anita Lupovnik, wife of the well-known Bond Street jeweller. Lupovnik’s had generously donated a pair of diamond earrings for the auction. Anita had said she would be only too happy to let Pete take as many photographs as he liked.

‘Fear not, we won’t be getting the bum’s rush again,’ Roshan said complacently. ‘Even if we strip naked and lick champagne out of each other’s navels.’

Egged on by Nancy, he hired himself white tie and tails. On the evening of the ball, he strutted down Wendy’s staircase, singing.

Nancy, Rufa and Max, assembled in the hall, burst into a round of applause. Unexpectedly, Roshan was ravishing. The tailcoat, and the expanse of boiled shirt-front, set off the grace of his slight figure.

Rufa kissed him. ‘You look like Fred Astaire. I wish Wendy could see you.’ (Wendy was in Kidderminster, staying with an unfortunate friend who had taken an overdose of St John’s Wort.)

Nancy gave Roshan a friendly slap on the bottom. ‘You look prettier than we do – where did you get it all?’

‘He mugged a concert pianist,’ Max said.

Roshan shot out his white cuffs, to display his gold cufflinks. ‘I went to an excellent hire shop near Savile Row. Everyone else will have gone to Moss Bros – a white-tie affair brings on a positively biblical renting of garments. I wanted something a little more recherché.’

Max tweaked one of his tails. ‘Must have set you back a bit.’

‘I’m putting it on expenses, you poor fool. Unlike BBC Radio, my boss can afford it. Now –’ Roshan turned briskly to the girls. ‘Stand under that woefully inadequate light, and let’s have a look at you.’

That afternoon he had called Rufa from work, to tell her that he had been struck by a lightning bolt of inspiration – they must swap dresses. Rufa and Nancy had been thrilled by this idea. Though Nancy was two inches shorter than Rufa, and differently distributed, they were the same dress size. It was intriguing to see how the characters of the two gowns were transformed. The yellow crêpe fishtail hung loosely upon Rufa’s elongated frame, giving her the brittle elegance of a 1930s film star. Her thick auburn hair was wound into a ballet-dancer’s chignon, exposing her back and shoulder blades. Nancy’s curves gave a tactile sexiness to the sober bronze velvet, and her loose red hair was a magnificent riot.

‘I’m a genius,’ Roshan announced. ‘And you two are simply divine. You’ll break hearts right and left – they’ll have to form an orderly queue.’

The ballroom was a gigantic, flower-decked hangar on Park Lane, thronged with people. Instead of a genteel hum, the conversation was a roar, seasoned with brays and shrieks. There was a large and noisy band. From the top of the stairs that swept down to the dance floor, Rufa and Nancy gazed across a seething mass of black tailcoats and pastel tulle. As Roshan had predicted, several of the younger women sported low-cut meringues which were obviously expensive wedding dresses.

Nancy murmured, ‘This is more like it. We might even have a good time.’

Pete the photographer, instructed by Roshan, had snapped them sipping champagne in several careless, hedonistic poses. He had now joined a battery of other photographers, to snap Anthea Turner beside the tombola stall.

‘I’m glad we get dinner,’ Nancy said. ‘My stomach’s growling like Vesuvius.’

Round tables ringed the dance floor, bathed in silver flecks shed by the revolving disco lights overhead. There was an insistent, inviting under-smell of food.

‘Come on,’ Rufa said, starting down the staircase. ‘Let’s have a look at the seating plan, so we know where to find Tiger.’

Nancy put a hand on her arm. ‘Wait a minute, I need another drink.’

‘Nance, please – we’re here on business.’

‘I haven’t forgotten. I’m more attractive with a drink inside me. And it’ll take away the bad taste left by that old bum of an earl.’

She knew this would persuade Rufa, who had been infuriated by the expression on Sheringham’s face when he looked at her. The fury covered deep hurt. She had remembered the Man quoting the classic definition of a gentleman: someone who never gives offence accidentally. Evidently, types like Sheringham were masters at giving offence on purpose.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘We might as well get as sloshed as everyone else.’

‘Let me do the honours,’ Roshan said. ‘You need to save your money for gloves and stockings.’ There was a bar set into the wall nearby. He went to join the other tailcoats, leaving Nancy and Rufa to mop up admiring glances at the top of the stairs. Rufa was glad to note that
Nancy
was getting plenty of these – how could Tiger Durward, or any other available, minted male, resist her?

Roshan returned with more champagne. Rufa sipped hers cautiously – her second glass – and found it delicious. Her spirits lifted. This time, everything seemed to be going beautifully. She went down the great staircase, feeling festive and elegant. This was exactly the sort of scene she had imagined when she first dreamed of the Marrying Game, under the dripping roof of Melismate.

At the foot of the stairs was a large board, displaying a list of the people at each table. Rufa quickly found their quarry among the Ds. ‘Here he is – Mr Timothy Durward, Table 12.’

‘And here we are, right next door at number 11,’ Roshan said. ‘I told you dear old Anita would do us proud.’

Nancy pressed against him, to read over his shoulder. ‘Oh, God – I don’t believe it!’ She began to laugh softly. ‘I don’t bloody well believe it. Ru, who’s the last person you want to see tonight?’

‘Edward,’ Rufa said promptly. ‘Please don’t tell me he’s here.’

‘Not quite as bad, but pretty nearly. It’s the Abominable Doctor Phibes.’

‘You’re joking!’

Nancy tapped the plan with a vermilion fingernail. ‘Sir Gerald Bute – there can’t be two of them.’

Roshan asked, ‘Who on earth are you talking about?’

‘He’s the master of our local hunt,’ Rufa said coldly. ‘He didn’t exactly see eye to eye with the Man.’

‘Could that be awkward?’

‘I don’t see why. He’s at Table 42; he ought to be easy enough to avoid.’

A worrying thought occurred to Nancy. ‘Suppose he sees our names, and tells Edward? We’d have a lot of explaining to do.’

Rufa was pale and haughty. ‘Edward wouldn’t give that man the time of day. And I can’t think why you’re fretting about Doctor Phibes, when you’re about to display yourself all over a national newspaper. Let’s find our table.’ She swept away from them through the ranks of numbered tables.

Roshan whispered to Nancy, ‘God, I love her when she’s like this!’

‘She means it, darling – it’s not put on,’ Nancy said, shaking her head. ‘Somehow, our parents managed to raise a perfect, high-born lady. That’s why I’m determined to bag Tiger. I can handle the vulgarity of marrying for money, but she can’t. It would kill her. Deep down, she’s an utter romantic still hoping to fall madly in love.’

‘She might.’

‘Yes, but we can’t afford to wait for it. I’ll win this game because I’m more of a realist.’

Roshan laughed. ‘You? Rubbish. You’re addicted to falling in love – I’ve heard your history in some detail, don’t forget. Rufa will make a great match, and you’ll elope with the window-cleaner.’

Nancy tried to be indignant, but could not help laughing. ‘Horrid little man. Just don’t let me weaken and elope with Max.’