Gifted and Talented by Wendy Holden

furniture was invisible under the tidal wave of clothes engulfing it. The boutique bags on the floor with their silken rope handles were a roll call of every expensive label Isabel had heard of and many more she had not. One patent ballerina flat lying alone on its side had ‘CHANEL’ printed on the inside of the sole. Coco, having been unceremoniously dumped on the floor, was now scrabbling frantically about in all of this. Looking for something to eat, Isabel suspected.
    Dominating the bed was an enormous oblong trunk covered in leopardskin. Its lid was open and more clothes spilled out of here to join the mass on the floor.
    Isabel looked longingly at the door, wondering if now she could make her escape. But, apparently impervious to Isabel’s presence, Amber had just almost completely shrugged off her bathrobe. It dangled precariously from her shoulders. Opening the door would expose her entirely to anyone passing by.
    Isabel tried to avert her gaze but noticed nonetheless that Amber’s breasts were small but perfect with large dark nipples. What looked like a coat of arms was tattooed on one of her smooth brown shoulder blades. The shield depicted a mediaeval war helmet with the lid down, combined with some bags of money. The motto on the rolling scroll underneath said, ‘ Fronti nulla fides ’.
    ‘Put no faith in appearances,’ Isabel murmured.
    ‘What?’
    ‘The motto on your tattoo.’
    Amber sniffed. ‘Is that what it means? I thought it was something about full frontals. It’s an old boyfriend of mine’s family crest.’ She shook her head. ‘Silly thing to say though, don’t you think? I always judge by appearances. I’m quite staggeringly shallow.’ Her eyes ran up and down Isabel speculatively. ‘You’re bright, aren’t you?’
    It seemed to Isabel a strange remark. Possibly even a trick one. All the students here were bright, surely. ‘No more than anyone else,’ she parried.
    ‘Brighter than me, definitely,’ Amber grinned. ‘I hate work. I’m here,’ she exclaimed suddenly, whirling nakedly round in the mass of dresses, ‘to have fun!’
    It was obvious by now to Isabel that her idea of fun was different to Amber’s. What with the champagne, the dog, the dresses and all. That, apart from the subject they were studying – the same, she had discovered – they had nothing whatsoever in common, seemed very likely. She longed to leave and took a tentative step towards the door.
    Amber’s sudden euphoria seemed suddenly to have faded and her large brown eyes were flashing angrily about her room. ‘I’ve got shoeboxes bigger than this,’ she said petulantly. ‘I’m thinking of hiring a hotel suite in town to keep my clothes in.’
    Despite her concern for her wardrobe, she seemed not to have noticed her dog ripping it to shreds. It was currently tearing concentratedly into a dress of thick black silk with a Victoria Beckham label in the back.
    Isabel bent and pulled Posh Spice’s handiwork gently away. A pile of bulky brown Amazon packets was exposed. ‘The Hon. A. Piggott, Eaton Square, London SW1’, Isabel read on the topmost one. This had been crossed out and ‘Villa Piggott, Mustique’ written over.
    ‘You’ve bought a lot of books,’ she remarked.
    Amber shot her a white blaze of smile. ‘You know, I’m actually really hopeless on accents. I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Are you Scottish or something?’
    Was this rude? Isabel wondered. It was difficult to say, with that dazzling beam. She repeated her question.
    ‘Oh, the books! That bloody reading list,’ Amber cackled. ‘Haven’t had a second to look at it. And neither has naughty Coco.’ She shot an indulgent glance at the still-scrabbling animal. ‘Have you?’ she asked, swinging her gaze back to Isabel.
    Isabel reddened, to her own irritation. There was no shame in having done the work.
    ‘You’ve read them all ?’ Amber’s face was blank with astonishment.
    Just below the sea of