Jemma’s Version
Since that Sunday, when I saw Portia come out of the stable block, I’ve been in a state of constant anxiety. My stomach is closed, so I can’t even eat.
Ashford’s words come back to my mind and, even if they’ve never had a relationship, thinking that there was something between them tears me apart. And Portia… every time she looks at me, I can see in her eyes that she thinks she should be in my place, as Ashford’s wife and Duchess of Burlingham.
I can no longer find the courage I had when I beat her with shameless confidence at the gentlemen’s auction. Maybe because I had no feelings for Ashford back then, I had nothing to lose and I only cared about saving my reputation. Now, I feel vulnerable and defenceless, constantly alert, as if there were something dangerous outside, something ready to undermine our delicate balance. Portia.
“Honey, be positive. Your aura is fading!” Comments my mother while I’m describing Portia for the umpteenth time.
“How can I be positive when all my past boyfriends were cheaters who broke my heart into pieces? I’m terrified that this is history repeating itself.”
“Ashford isn’t that kind of laddie,” Dad mumbles. “I’ve seen everything with you. I wouldn’t have bet a penny on any of your exes.”
“Do you really have to leave now?” I ask, looking at them with imploring eyes, hoping to change their minds.
“Martha and Hollister have bought a farm at Matlock Meadows, and they asked for our help to start it up. We’ve been friends for thirty years, we can’t let them down. They have stables, aviaries, rabbit runs and sheep pens; that makes a lot of creatures to take care of. Once they start it up, they won’t need us much. It’s just for a month!” Mum reassures me, kissing my forehead.
Damn you, Martha and Hollister! You should have stayed in Lewisham, selling crystals and candles in that New Age shop of yours!
“I could come and visit you.”
“You and Ashford would both benefit from a breath of fresh air.”
“We’re going to Barcelona soon.” I have the football tickets he gave me for my birthday, but I doubt the match will still be the main reason for the trip.
“Go away for a while. You deserve some time to yourselves. You’ve done enough dance parties and receptions,” Dad encourages me.
“Not tonight, though. There’s the last charity society evening of the season. We were invited by the Davenports.”
*
The evening could not be more pompous. The Davenports have opened the large gothic gallery with spectacular fan vaulting and majestic stained glass windows which go all the way up to the ceiling.
“Whenever I enter this room, I always think that I could find myself in the middle of a medieval sword fight,” says Harring, who walks in with us.
“Don’t worry, there’s no danger. In the Middle Ages, duels were fought to defend one’s honour, but since you don’t have any, you’re the last person in this room to be at risk,” says a female voice behind us.
“Loxley! Stop sneaking up on people! How old are you, three?” Harring says.
“I wish. I’d be much better. So? What are we signing cheques for tonight? Wells in Africa? Schools in Bolivia?” Asks my friend, getting straight to the point.
“Reintegration of misfits into the community,” Ashford replies.
“Have you heard him, Harring?” Cécile asks, nudging him. “It’s our evening!”
“Speak for yourself, Loxley. I don’t want to be reintegrated anywhere.”
“I just don’t get why I made everyone in high society turn their noses up for months. The two of you behave even worse in public! I mean, look at you! Cécile, you could be a character from Shining, and, Harring, your reputation is simply embarrassing! No offence. I love you both, but it’s a fact, and you’re the first to admit it.”
Harring gets all excited and proud. “Let me explain one thing: I was born when my parents were not yet married, and it was a scandal at the time. My father was the younger son and the title of viscount should have gone to his older brother, my uncle. Unfortunately, the latter died a few years ago in a car accident and, since he had had no children, my father ended up with the title of Viscount of Westborough. This makes me the heir to the title, and a lucky bastard, according to these people. But it’s a birthright, so they have to accept it, and kiss my ass.”
“My story, well, you know about it. Half French for generations, misanthrope and atheist, and I still inherited the title from my parents. I’m allowed to hate anyone at my discretion, because no one, not even a husband, can take my title away,” Cécile adds.
“Don’t go bragging, lady!” Harring reproaches her.
“For your information, Viscount Harring, as a marquise, I’m right on top of you.”
“Oh, really?” Harring winks.
“Cécile… you served it on a silver platter!” I point out.
Ashford is amused by my friend’s mistake. “Yes, Loxley, you scored in your own goal, this time. Let’s get a drink and make sense of this evening!”
*
“Anyway, I have to congratulate you, Cécile. Tonight, you had the longest conversation ever with Harring. An authentic record.”
“You’re right, I’m being a little dull. I should go back to my old standards: fulminating insults shorter than four seconds,” she grumbles.
“Accept it, the older, the wiser,” I mock her.
“Anyway, let’s go back to when you said you love me and Harring, you didn’t mean in the same way, did you? I mean, you love me a bit more, right?”
“Let’s put it this way: if I were a lesbian, you’d be my first choice.”
“If I were a lesbian, my first choice would be any of Victoria’s Secret Angels. Sorry, Jemma, but I aim high.”
“Bugger off, Cécile,” I say. Then I turn towards the entrance of the hall and I freeze. “Bugger off.”
“Yes, I heard you, no need to repeat that,” Cécile complains.
“The second one was not for you. That praying mantis, Portia, is here.”
“What do you care? She’s not alone! She’s with… what’s his name? Baldy!” Says Cécile, pointing at the chap standing next to her.
“Who?”
“The guy she came with, Baldy! I can’t think of his name, but I remember that’s what they called him at university. Exams caused him so much stress that he lost his hair in strands, and his head was all patchy,” Cécile narrows her eyes to see the couple more clearly. “I can’t say if he still suffers from hair loss, because his head is shaved, but I’m sure it’s him. Turning up with such a type is quite a strange choice for one who was aiming for a duke.”
“Hair loss or not, her presence annoys me. Knowing that she’s in the same room as Ashford makes me… aargh,” I can’t even finish my sentence.
“Yeah, if I have to be ruthlessly honest with you, you’ve been looking awful for a while, now. You’re tense, tired, pale… are you eating?”
“Not much. I don’t feel like it. I have thoughts in my head, my stomach is closed and food is the least of my worries. Cécile, I’ve been cheated on repeatedly in the past, and finding myself in front of the ghost of Ashford’s ex brings back my worst fears.”
“We just have to hope that Baldy hides a monster penis in his underwear, so that Portia will be busy for a while.”
“Weren’t you the one who found sex disgusting? How come you’re weighing the equipment of the guests, now?”
“I’m just evaluating the various possibilities.”
“Okay, then. While you evaluate possibilities, I’ll be in the bathroom.”