‘A nudist party,’ she said lightly. ‘Darling, how riveting. I don’t think anyone’s had one of those yet. Everyone would think you were frightfully avant garde.’
‘Would they really? I’m sure I should just be frightfully chilly. Oh look – here’s Theo.’ Flick half got to her feet to wave, though they always sat at the same table and Theo was already making his way towards them, oblivious to the heads turning in his wake. In spite of the spring sunshine outside he was wearing a long, shabby fur coat and holding aloft a gold-tipped cigarette holder.
‘Oh good – you didn’t wait,’ he began, when he was still three tables away. ‘I called in to see Andrei at the theatre and quite lost track of the time, and then I dashed here and bumped into Lally Ross-Cunningham coming out of the ladies’ cloakroom.’ He flopped into the chair the blank-faced waiter pulled out for him. ‘I begged her to go back in and see if my cigarette holder was still on top of the lavatory cistern where I left it last week at Bunny Hargreaves’s party – remember, when I climbed over to rescue you from the stall next door, Flick darling? – and look!’ He held it up triumphantly. ‘The cigarette’s still in it – isn’t that a scream? A little damp, but I’m sure it’ll be as good as new once it dries out.’
Theo Osborne was in his mid-twenties, but his angelic choir-boy looks made everyone want to mother him. (Everyone except his own mother, who despised his rackety lifestyle, extravagant tastes and aversion to manly pursuits, and regularly threatened to cut off his allowance.) Selina reached over to rub a carmine lip-print from his cheek and ruffle the patchy fur on his arm. ‘Darling, what on earth are you wearing? Did it die of some fearful disease?’
He beamed. ‘Isn’t it gruesome? The costume department was throwing it out, so I took pity on it and staged a rescue. I might take it to Harrods to have it gift-wrapped and give it to my mother for Christmas.’ Shrugging it off he dropped it onto the spare chair and helped himself to a salmon sandwich. ‘So, what news on the Rialto?’
‘Aggie Montague’s party,’ Flick said, ignoring the Shakespeare and pulling a face. Andrei, Theo’s current obsession, was costume director at the Savoy Theatre, which meant he spent a lot of time in the company of theatrical types and his conversation was peppered with borrowed lines. It was slightly less alarming than when he’d been in love with an opera singer and kept bursting into song.
‘Ah, yes.’ Theo wiped his fingers fastidiously on his napkin. ‘Everyone’s going.’
‘I know,’ Flick moaned. ‘Isn’t it a bore? It’s all right for you – it’s black tie, so you don’t have to bother deciding what to wear.’
‘More’s the pity. You know I’d far rather slip into a delicious confection of silk and feathers.’
‘It would be entirely wasted on Aggie Montague’s crowd—’
Selina broke off as Theo gave a stifled cry and lunged towards the discarded fur. ‘Heavens – how could I forget? Lally gave me this.’ Scrambling in the mangy pocket he pulled out a piece of paper and dropped it onto the table.
Flick picked up the leaflet. ‘A Midsummer Night’s Scream,’ she read slowly, ‘To which all faeries, asses and young lovers are invited … Oh how super, it’s a treasure hunt! Such ages since we’ve had one of those – I thought all the clever people had got fed up of thinking up clues. Whose motorcar shall we commandeer?’
‘I vote Harry Lonsdale’s. He’s yawn-makingly clever and he owes me plenty of favours after all the beastly things his papa’s newspapers have printed about me lately – they’ve been utterly savage.’
‘The problem with treasure hunts is that one gets so terribly chilly in one’s evening clothes…’ Tapping ash into her teacup Flick hunched her shoulders against the anticipated cold, her blue gaze lighting on the fur coat. ‘I rather think I might borrow your friend here to keep me warm.’
‘You’ll need to spend a month in quarantine if you do,’ Selina remarked. As they’d talked half her mind had also been occupied with the question of what to wear, which was nothing new. Whereas for Flick the problem was created by an excess of choice, for Selina it was quite the reverse, and there were only so many times she could rotate the same three dresses, only so many alterations Polly could make to them, before people began to make cutting comments. She often joked that it was a shame Flick’s generous heart was housed in the most delicate little ribcage beneath a barely-there bosom, which meant that her own ample chest could not be contained in Flick’s beautiful couture cast-offs, no matter how tightly she bound it. She narrowed her eyes, exhaling a plume of smoke. ‘Theo darling, how many dinner jackets do you have in your possession?’
‘Too many, alas; though several are of highly dubious origin, collected like scalps, my dear. Why do you ask? Are you planning something naughty?’
‘Not at all.’ Selina adopted an expression of studied innocence. ‘I’m on the strictest instructions to behave myself. Mama doesn’t want my name to appear in the newspapers between now and my sister’s big day for fear that clan Atherton will be whispering about me behind their hands instead of ahhhing over Miranda as she walks down the aisle. Which is why I’m planning on being excessively obedient. Flick dearest, if an invitation specifies ‘Black Tie’ don’t you think it would be a gesture of supreme courtesy to go along with the hostess’s wishes?’
Flick frowned in confusion. ‘You mean … you and me? At Aggie’s?’
‘Why not?’ Selina shrugged. ‘Smart, correct, and marvellously practical. I’m game if you are.’
She knew that Flick would probably look far better in a man’s suit than she would, but she was used to that; resigned to it. The contrast between Flick’s dark and delicate beauty and her own golden voluptuousness (as Theo loyally framed it) was one reason why the press photographers pursued them so relentlessly. Admittedly, the other was that they could usually be relied upon to do something scandalously newsworthy. It had reached the stage where Selina almost felt a responsibility not to disappoint.
She slipped the Treasure Hunt leaflet into her handbag. If it was left lying around the press would be onto them before they’d even started, and part of the fun was keeping them guessing.
‘Problem solved,’ said Theo approvingly. ‘Genius girl. Now – I do believe it must be almost six o’clock…’
‘The glittering hour!’ Flick announced joyfully. ‘Let’s have cocktails.’
* * *
Aggie Montague’s narrow house in Bruton Street was far too small for parties of the size she insisted on throwing. However, the crowd of people crammed into its rooms and thronging its hallway always gave a great impression of popularity and conviviality, as if simply everyone was there. (Which, as Flick had pointed out, wasn’t far from the truth.)
The cocktails at Claridge’s had been followed by sherry (smuggled up from the terrifying Mrs Osborne’s drawing room drinks tray) as they dressed at Theo’s house, but in spite of the pleasant alcohol haze Selina was aware, as they shouldered their way to the stairs, of eyes on her; some gazes admiring, others disapproving. She and Flick had made free with Theo’s hair oil and tried to be as authentically masculine as possible in their costume, though had allowed themselves some leeway when it came to shoes. Red satin toes peeked out from the pinned-up hems of Flick’s evening trousers, gold glacé kid from Selina’s.