Twenty-Two

She was woken by the doorbell ringing.

It had an old-fashioned chime rather than an electric buzz, but it was still insistent. Daisy’s eyes flicked open. She was sleeping in the gorgeous oak four-poster in the main bedroom; linen sheets and dark woods, with the scent of lavender and potpourri in the air. The William Morris curtains were slightly drawn back from the lead-paned windows. Enough for her to see that bright light was streaming into the room, catching motes of dust which shimmered like miniature galaxies.

Sod it. How late was it?

Daisy squinted at the grandmother clock across the room. Half past twelve?

Ding-dong, said the bell again.

Shit. Shit. She jumped out of bed, the cobwebs swept away.

“Coming, coming,” she said. Daisy grabbed her old toweling robe and raced downstairs, yanking the door open.

Edward stood there in a suit.

“Edward! Come in,” Daisy said, blushing.

He hesitated awkwardly. “I fear I’ve disturbed you—”

“No! Well, yes,” Daisy admitted. “But I overslept … I don’t know what happened, must have slept through the alarm. Come on in, I’ll be two seconds.” She ushered him into the small living room and ran back into her bedroom, tugging on some underwear and a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, shoving her feet into her shoes.

She felt faintly ashamed; Edward was so disciplined and well-dressed … he’d never be opening the door in a shitty, graying robe. She grabbed her bottle of scent and spritzed herself.

“Hey.”

Edward looked surprisingly ill at ease. He was never uncomfortable with her; Daisy thought of him as her one true friend here. Yeah, she had other people she hung out with, Rackham students she ate lunch with, girls from the restaurant she occasionally took to the pub. But Edward she cared about.

“Is something wrong?”

“Not at all.” He smiled gingerly. “I wondered if you’d heard Brad’s news.”

She couldn’t suppress a smile. He was so delicate, treading carefully around her feelings. Nobody else had ever bothered to try and prevent her from feeling pain like this. No man, at least.

“Yes.” Daisy smiled crisply. “I’m happy for him.”

“Are you? I thought you had … feelings for him.”

“Brad? Not at all. I liked him,” Daisy said firmly. “That was about it.”

“Ah. Well. That’s good.” Edward twisted a bit. “I, um, I’ve met someone too.”

The room seemed to spin. Daisy gripped the armrests of her chair. What? Edward had found someone? Rake-thin Edward?

Her Edward?

“That’s a surprise,” she managed.

“She’s at St. Hilda’s.”

The all-girl college.

“How nice.” Daisy could not understand why her heart had started to race. She felt almost dizzy. “Tell me about her.”

“Oh, well.” Edward’s eyes lit up. He started to talk enthusiastically, like someone who could not believe his luck. “She’s a brick. I met her in the Union bar one night, she was coming to the speaker meeting for Sir Georg Solti. She loves opera…”

“Perfect for you,” Daisy muttered. She herself was more Madonna and Wham. But Edward went for the classical stuff.

“She’s called Edwina. Can you believe that?”

“It’s obviously fate,” Daisy agreed. “Edwina who?”

“Edwina Latham. She’s Monty Latham’s daughter,” Edward said.

The name rang the vaguest of bells. Oh God, yes. Some Tory front-bencher in the House of Lords. Daisy felt the pit of her stomach give way. She pictured Edwina, a horsey, upper-class girl who loved opera and was at Oxford proper and had a title. Jolly hockey sticks, and all that.

An ideal future Lady Powers.

Daisy should have been happy for Edward, but she wasn’t. She realized instantly that she was insanely jealous. How pathetic!

“How long have you been seeing her?”

“We had dinner a couple of times. Went to her parents’ place last weekend.”

“How nice,” Daisy said. “You must introduce me.”

“Oh, I shall. You’ll love her.”

It was so fourth-form, for her to think her friend shouldn’t have a girlfriend. After all, it wouldn’t stop him being friends with her. This Edwina would never be jealous, because Edward had asked Daisy out, and she’d always turned him down. She didn’t like rail-thin men, she liked muscles, and …

“Do you love her?” Daisy asked. Her own voice sounded tinny and far-away, as if it were coming up from the bottom of a cave.

“Bit early for that.” Edward looked all bashful again. “But, you know, she’s a peach, and we do seem to get on OK.”

A huge wave of nausea rocked through Daisy. This made what she’d gone through with Brad pale into total insignificance. Immediately, fatally, she understood her mistake.

She didn’t just like Edward. She loved him. She was in love with him.

And now he was in love with somebody else.

“Isn’t that wonderful,” Daisy said.

Please, she thought. Please go away.

“Oh, no.” She looked at the ornate gold mantelpiece clock. “Edward, you’re going to think me amazingly rude, but I’ve got a job, and I’m going to be late…”

“Not at all.” He stood up, and it was hard to tell which of them looked the more relieved. “How very enterprising of you to have found a job. What is it?”

She was beyond being ashamed. “Waitressing.”

He didn’t flinch. “Well done. Do you make decent money?”

“Yes,” Daisy lied. “Almost enough to get a place of my own. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“I hope never,” Edward said, with his old politeness. He gave her a slight bow. “Perhaps you can meet us later for a drink? I’ll be with Edwina at the Union tonight.”

“Sounds great. Eight suit you?”

“See you then,” Edward said. “I’ll let myself out.”

Daisy waited till he had gone, then raced to get ready. She had coped with too much in the past week to pretend to be strong. She burst into tears.

*   *   *

When she finished her shift, it was already 4 P.M. Daisy gathered up her tips; not much today. Eighteen quid and change. She pulled her coat on and shivered her way back to Walton Street. At least it would enable her to buy the ghastly Edwina a drink.

Daisy unlocked her door and walked into her living room. The answer machine was blinking; she’d check it later. She felt so exhausted, her weariness had seeped into her bones, along with the aching cold.

At half past four she had a lecture on the Rackham campus.

Sod it, Daisy thought. She could call her girlfriend Lucy and crib from her notes. She just could not drag herself out to do one more unpleasant thing. Daisy walked into the bathroom and peeled off her rain-drenched clothes, running a hot bath, pouring her Radox bath essence under the tap and watching the white, scented clouds of bubbles rise up the sides of the ancient tub. Fantastic. She jumped in, washing herself, making it as warm as she could bear it.

It got so cold here in the winter she sometimes thought she would never get warm. Baths were a help, and, right now, her only real pleasure most days.

She knew she should wash her hair. Not let the Edwina cow see her like this. But she was just too exhausted to spend forty minutes blow-drying it. Fuck it, she could just keep her hair twisted in this French pleat. All she needed to do was look respectable …

The misery of it engulfed her soul the way the warm water was lapping at her body.

God, Daisy thought, tears prickling at the back of her throat, will anything ever go right for me again?

She’d once thought that if she could lose weight, she’d be happy, and everything would be OK. What a laugh. Now, sadness and overwork had managed to do what willpower couldn’t, and she was a perfectly respectable size 12.

And she didn’t think she’d ever felt more worthless in her life.

But Daisy wasn’t going to let it show. She owed it to Edward to turn up tonight. He’d always looked out for her; she wasn’t going to ruin his happiness now.

She reached for one of the big white towels that came with the place and swaddled herself in it. Maybe she’d go out and get a bottle of wine or something; no, one of those ready-mixed gin and tonics they sold in the individual bottles. She was gonna need a drink just to get up the courage to go to the bar!

Daisy dispiritedly reached out to her answer machine and pressed play.

“You have one message,” said the electronic voice soothingly. It beeped. A woman’s voice came on.

“Hi, this message is for Daisy Markham,” she said. Daisy could hear the sounds of a busy office in the background. “This is Gemma Brown in Ted Elliott’s office. Mr. Elliott received your material and he’d like to talk to you about representation. Can you call us back on 01 555 5764? Thanks very much.”